Return to Triskelion
by Izulia
Summary: The Enterprise returns to Triskelion. What is the planet's strange hold over Chekov and what are the Providers plotting? Thanks for your reviews. I might change the ending... if anyone has a polite opinion on that, I'm willing to listen.
1. Chapter 1

The young man screamed. With his hands tied to the cold steel slab of the examination table he had nowhere to go but to arch his back in pain. The bright, unforgiving lights glared down into his pallid face. The pinpricks of his pupils stared back up at them, overloaded and unseeing. The silver bar torc about his neck tightened and the red marker lozenges glowed. He screamed again. At the foot of the bed stood a tall man dressed in long black robes, a large red collar framed the back of his head. His face was blank and had the sallow grey texture of a corpse, disturbed only by a short grey beard. No one knew how old he was – probably hundreds of years. One bony hand rested on a small glass dome beside him. In it was a pale blue pulsing, vibrating brain. The man's eyes lit up suddenly with an inner blue fire that reflected the colour of the brain. The young man screamed again.

A short, stocky young woman stood tensely in the corner of the room. She looked at the white shelves stacked with vials and bottles containing liquids and solids of every colour and hue. She looked at each one with an earnest interest, trying to block out the voice of the human, as if studying the powders and potions would transport her out of the room and far away. But she knew that was not going to happen. No one had ever been able to resist Galt and the Providers. She rubbed at her bare yellow arms. The screams made her feel cold and afraid. Why did they have to choose her trainee? Why not Shanna's Kirk or Lars' Uhura? She thought back to the moment she had first met him. He had captivated her from the start. She had brought nourishment to his cell. His dark eyes and intense expression had stopped her at the door, bringing on a flood of new emotions and making her behave in ways she had never done before. A desire had overcome her immediately – he had to be selected for her. She made her intentions clear, had even learnt his name, which she found so difficult to pronounce with its mixture of guttural and clipped sounds. _Chikoof_, she had tried. He pronounced her name, Tamoon, effortlessly and with a soft T that she found endearing. She had confided in Shanna and was surprised to find that she was experiencing similar confusion about her trainee. Only he seemed to be returning her feelings and was leading her on into thoughts and acts that she wasn't sure she should be indulging in. Chekov on the other hand had been hesitant and nervous. Where she had wanted him to be open, he had been withdrawn. He did not want to learn how to fight in the games and become a thrall. He was stubborn and uncooperative in everything he did. She had persevered and found that he fought like a boy – wildly, driven only by anger and not by cunning or strategy. She valued that passion. She wanted to channel it towards her and turn it into something sweeter, but he kept on rejecting her. This had made her sad and angry. So she decided to see Galt. If Chekov would not willingly agree to her selection, then she would force him. Galt had listened in silence to her pleas and nodded, dismissing her with a silent wave of his hand. The next day he appeared in their training session outside the ruined city where she had been instructing Chekov in the spear and net. Galt had told them to put down the weapons and follow him. Chekov had started to resist like he always did, but she managed to stop him. Something in her eyes made him falter. She hated to see him punished – on his knees, pulling at the collar around his throat, choking for air until Galt decided to release him. They had walked the short distance back to the arenas and into the cave buildings, their ancient metal doors creaking open and scraping on the rocky ground. It was usually forbidden for thralls to enter the caves and only Galt was allowed free access. Rumour had it that it was here that the Providers lived and kept all their equipment to keep them alive. It was guarded night and day by the Providers unseen eyes. All the thralls knew that they could read minds and possessed great powers. No one could plan anything against them without their knowledge.

"Where have you come from?" Galt's question reverberated around the room and within her head, forcing her attention back into the moment. His voice was a seamless mixture of his own and the Provider's when he spoke the Provider's words.

Chekov lay on the table, drained, his chest heaving, gasping for air. "Please stop," he said weakly, his voice hoarse.

Tamoon looked away again. _Why him?_ She thought to herself.

Galt turned his blank eyes towards her. "Because he is the youngest of his group and his mind is still open and pliable. He absorbs information more efficiently than the others and he is more easily open to suggestion. It is his greatest asset and his greatest flaw. He is their navigator and he knows the stars. We will use that."

Tamoon froze to the spot. The Provider had read her mind and had spoken directly to her. That was a great honour. She bowed her head quickly. Galt turned back to the table. His eyes flared into life with their icy blue fire and the torture began again. Chekov strained against the leather straps that held his wrists, tried not to cry out but the longer Galt sifted through his mind, unpicking the pathways one by one, the more unbearable it became. He was brave, she realised, but she wished he'd give them what they wanted.

By the time it was all over she wasn't sure whether it was day or night any more. It must have been several hours at least since they had entered. The Provider had wanted to know where the humans had come from, where they were going to, whether they had been to somewhere called Cyliss. Question after question had been put to Chekov, followed by punishment from the collar when he failed to answer. But he had known all the answers and it was only a matter of time until the Provider had extracted each piece with painful precision, forcing him to reveal them, the words heaving out in violent torrents beyond his control. Galt drifted silently over to the side of the table and looked down dispassionately at the agonized, tear-stained face of the human, slowly untying the straps from his wrists with a strangely fatherly care. As soon as his arms were released Chekov covered his face with his hands, burning with shame and humiliation. He lay exhausted, unable to move. Galt glided off to the side and to one of the many shelves that lined the walls. He scanned along until his eyes alighted on a small vial of green liquid. He reached up and grasped it with his long fingers and took it down, resting it on the bench before taking down a small metal cylinder from another shelf. He decanted a small amount of the green liquid into the cylinder and replaced its flat metal cap with a dull click. He turned back to Chekov and grasped the young man's bruised wrist, pulling it firmly away from his face. Chekov looked at him in horror and tried to pull away but his strength had faded and Galt was unflinching. He watched helplessly as Galt pulled up his sleeve and pressed the cylinder to the crook of his arm, depressing a small button on the cap. It was a hypospray Chekov realised. He panicked. Was this the final lethal injection? He felt the thick sludge of liquid seep into his veins, down into his fingers and up his arm. He sat up with a sudden energy brought on in a last exertion of energy and adrenaline. Galt put out a hand against his chest, pushing him back down with a calming firmness.

"The liquid will make you forget everything that happened here today. You have given us all the information we need. But you have condemned yourself, your ship and your planet. You must have no recollection. You must tell no one." The Provider's voice thundered through his skull. He lay back gasping on the table, the last of the pain fading away. He needed to hold onto something, he realised. He needed to grasp some memory of this room, something, anything that he might be able to use to undo the damage that they had made him do. Why couldn't he have been stronger? _Try to remember_, he told himself. _It's what you're good at_. Some thought, some feeling. But the liquid seeped across his chest, though his ribs and up his spine, turning his thoughts into an evaporating mist.

"Sleep," he heard Galt command and he obeyed.


	2. Chapter 2

Three months later Hikaru Sulu stepped out of the turbolift onto Deck 2 and was confronted with a maelstrom of noise, smoke, people and equipment. Wires and cables of all different colours lay strewn across the floor. Boxes of tools were stacked along the walls, their silver lids glinting red in the dull emergency lighting. He waved the smoke aside and moved into the corridor, edging his way past bustling crewmen and along walls whose innards, normally enclosed behind smooth grey bulkheads, sagged outwards as if trying to block his way. He tapped an ensign on the shoulder. The young woman was trying to open a bulkhead panel with a small laser torch.

"Have you seen Mr Scott?" he asked her, raising his voice over the sudden screech of a nearby drill.

She looked up and nodded, pointing further down the corridor. "Junction 12, sir," she replied loudly.

Sulu nodded his thanks and set off in the direction indicated. He climbed over a collapsed girder and pushed his way past a thick swathe of cabling before he found, on the other side, Mr Scott standing, shielding his eyes from a brilliant blue welding arc coming from the wall. Small yellow sparks flew out from behind a bulkhead door panel and crackled onto his boots.

"Mr Chekov, will you watch what you're doing with the CR supressor. If you weld it to the field sensor we're never going to know where we are again."

"No, Mr Scott," came the muffled sound of Chekov's tired voice from within the bulkhead.

"And make sure you shield the inverter from the phase transducer."

"_Meester_ Scott," Sulu smiled to himself as Chekov's accent became more pronounced in a flash of frustration. "I know perfectly well what I am doing."

Scotty also heard the warning sign and paused. "Aye… I suppose you do, laddie". He caught sight of Sulu and raised his eyebrows, pulling a grimace. "Well, as you were then, ensign". He grabbed a cloth from a tool stand next to him and wiped his hands. "We've been down here for twelve hours and we're all tired. So, what brings you down here?" He turned to Sulu. "Have you come to give us a hand?"

Sulu stepped back as more sparks began to spit out of the bulkhead. He could see Chekov sat on the floor in a space only just big enough for him, his knees almost up to his ears, a small portable superheating welding kit wedged in next to him as he fused the equipment sat on the floor between his legs. The black welding goggles gave his face an eerie blackness in the blue welding light as he concentrated on the job at hand. He stopped momentarily to pull up the collar of his engineering fatigues to stop the sparks from going down the back of his neck.

"Everything going ok?" Sulu asked Scotty.

Scotty gave a rueful sigh. "As well as can be, Mr Sulu. For a warning shot across our bows, those Klingons have given us a whole heap of trouble and an awful lot of work."

Sulu nodded. "I think we've gone as far as we can in this sector. The captain's called meeting a in the Briefing Room in ten minutes. He wants you and Chekov to attend."

"Ten minutes," muttered Scotty testily. "Doesn't he know how busy we are done here? Well, alright. I'll be there. I just need to brief Mr Kyle on the transporter repair schedule. I'll see you up there."

Scotty pushed his way past the cables and disappeared back down into the smoke of the corridor, shouting orders as he went. Sulu took the opportunity in a break in Chekov's welding to prod him with his toe.

"Come on, ensign. That means you too."

He bobbed down onto his haunches as Chekov turned his head, pulling up his goggles to push back his thick dark hair. Streaks of oil made two crescents of dirt underneath the white pressure marks of where the goggles had been.

"How did you manage to get oily while welding?" Sulu asked incredulously.

Chekov pursed his lips. "I didn't. The oil is from the navigation sensors micromotors. They blew up in my face when I was repairing them – before I got given this to do." He wiped a bead of sweat from his hairline with a finger. "It's as hot as hell in here."

Sulu reached up to the tool cabinet where Scotty had left his cloth. "Here," he said, throwing the cloth at Chekov. "Down tools. You're coming with me."

Chekov caught it and gave his face a perfunctory wipe before climbing gingerly out of his hold. Sulu smiled as he held out a hand to help him up. Chekov had only succeeded in smearing the oil across the rest of his face.

Chekov looked at him suspiciously stretching his back to pull out the tension across his shoulders.

Sulu shook his head. "I don't think Lita Morell is going to think much of you looking like that," he laughed, taking the cloth off him before pulling Chekov by the arm through the curtain of cables. Chekov cast him a sideways glance, pulling the goggles gingerly off his head without trapping his hair as they headed back down the corridor. They stopped at the turbolift door.

"What do you mean?" Chekov asked with a yawn, expecting criticism. "Do you think engineering fatigues don't suit me?"

Sulu cast him a pitying look. "Well, they're not a good start for a date."

"Since when do you offer fashion advice?" asked Chekov sourly, stepping into the lift as the door opened.

Sulu followed behind him. "I don't. I wear a uniform all day every day, remember? Ask Uhura. Deck 5."

"I've already had enough date advice from Uhura recently," muttered Chekov, swaying slightly as the lift set off sideways. "Like I don't know what I'm doing."

"That's because she thinks you're still sweet and innocent" said Sulu. "I try to tell her what you're really like but she won't listen".

"She's looking after me," said Chekov smoothly. "And what do you mean 'what I'm really like'? What are you trying to insinuate?"

Sulu gave a derisive snort, staring at the door. "That you just like female attention."

Chekov shrugged and looked up at him askance. "What's wrong with that?"

Sulu continued to study the door. "Because this one is on my team and I'm looking out for her as a favour to an old friend. I don't want you turning her into an emotional wreck."

"Like I ever do that. I really don't know where you get your suspicions about me," complained Chekov, with a note of hurt in his voice.

"Because you're the only ensign I've heard of who would sleep with two of Harry Mudd's robots, for instance", replied Sulu. "I mean, _robots_?"

"We've already discussed this. Those were vicious rumours."  
"I really wish I could believe that."

"They were very human though."

"Urgh. Please take that grin off your face, Pasha."

The turbolift drifted to a halt and the door quietly opened. The two of them stepped out into the corridor and made the short walk to the meeting room. As they walked in, Scotty was just sitting down next to Spock. The entire bridge crew was there headed by Captain Kirk at the top of the table. Chekov took a place between Dr McCoy and Uhura, nodding his greeting as he did so. He suddenly realised he had brought the googles with him and put them on his lap under the table. Sulu swung a chair round and sat down opposite him on the other side of Spock.

"Thank you gentlemen," began Kirk looking up from the computer. He glanced round the table, his keen hazel eyes alighting on Chekov's smeared features and fatigues. "Ah… Mr Chekov." He waved a vague hand. "What have you been doing? Goggles?"

Chekov looked uncomfortable and shifted in his seat. He could have sworn the captain couldn't have noticed them as he had walked in. He slowly brought them up from his lap and put them on the table. "Replacing the port navigation beacon, sir." He looked to Scotty for support.

"Aye, captain," said Scotty unapologetically. "Apart from me, the lad's the only one that knows how it goes back together."

Kirk's brow furrowed. "And if Mr Chekov were to disappear out of an airlock, what would you do then?"

"Well…" Scotty began to think in his plain way that always left Kirk bemused." I suppose I'd have to find the drawings and do it myself."

Kirk sighed. "Mr Scott, I don't want my Chief Engineer or, for that matter, my Chief Navigator up to his arms in oil and circuitry when they have other more important jobs to do. See to it that someone else gets trained up immediately. I've drawn up a repair rota so I'd ask you to stick to it."

"Aye sir," replied Scotty in a businesslike fashion. He could sense the captain was in a no nonsense mood.

Kirk turned back to the rest of the table and punched up a star chart of the sector on the table's three cornered viewer.

"Right. I want this to be quick. As you are aware, ladies and gentlemen," he ploughed on, "I think we have reached as far as we are able to go in this sector. We have Klingons on all sides apart from the way back."

"Starfleet were unaware that the Klingon Empire had recently expanded in this region of space," spoke up Spock, leaning forward. "After our encounter yesterday, however, we have been able to inform them otherwise."

Kirk nodded. "That was a warning shot we received yesterday," he said gravely. "I decided not to retaliate. We are out here on our own and I for one have no intention, or any authority for that matter, to start a war with the Klingons."

"Where do we go from here then, sir?" asked Sulu, pointing at the viewer. Seven red triangles circled the white circle of the Enterprise on the screen. "Retrace our steps?"

Kirk nodded. "Precisely, Mr Sulu." A ripple of concern drifted over the room. "But that doesn't need to be as negative as it sounds. Lieutenant Uhura?"

Uhura straightened up in her seat a little, tapping at the datapad she held in front of her. "We have received instructions from Starfleet Command to return to Triskelion at our earliest convenience." Almost imperceptibly, she felt Chekov freeze at her side.

"Why?" asked Dr McCoy from the other side of him. "We were there… what?" he looked round for confirmation from the others, "six months ago? Hasn't the Federation got ships out to them yet? Have we really come all this way just to turn around and go on a house call?"

Kirk splayed his hands on the table. "I really don't see what else we can do in this situation. We've got Kingon outposts identified in the Talliss system, the Epsilon Tau system, Teston and the Cat Nebula. We've not just come up against a few stray raiding parties – we've hit the wall of the Empire. We can't go on."

McCoy sat back with a grunt. "Well, alright then. I don't want a fight with the Klingons. But what does Starfleet want us to do at Triskelion? We liberated a planet of slaves from their disembodied masters. I thought the Providers were happy to take on the challenge of educating them."

"Well, yes, so did we," replied Kirk, "and the Federation sent a flotilla of aid and medical ships straight away to get them on track. Unfortunately nothing has been heard from them since – neither the planet nor the ships."

"So Starfleet want us to make contact and find out what's been going on?" asked Uhura.

"Precisely, Lieutenant," interjected Spock. "At high warp we can reach Triskelion directly in two weeks. Mr Scott, is the ship ready?"

Scotty's face clouded. "Aye, I can give you warp speed but I'll need to double the repair crews. The integrity of the port hull on deck two needs a lot more care and attention and half of the navigation systems have been vaporised. If we don't get the plasma interchange ducts cleaned then we'll lose some manoeuvring capability and if we leave the reaction coolers running as they are we won't make it to warp six…"

"Yes, thank you Mr Scott," said Kirk soothingly. "You can have your repair crews. It doesn't have to be perfect but if you give us what we need for now we can worry about the details on the way." He knew that Scotty wanted only perfection when it came to the running of the ship and it was sometimes difficult to get him to understand that there were occasions when they just had to get by.

"Aye, captain," sighed Scotty with an obvious note of dissatisfaction. "You'll have warp speed in a couple of hours."

"Thank you." Kirk turned back to the rest of the table. "Mr Chekov." Kirk raised his voice slightly. He could the young man was staring blankly at the table, lost in a world of his own, not even seeing the goggles he was absently toying with. It was obvious that he hadn't been listening. Uhura discreetly nudged him in the ribs. He looked up at her, suddenly becoming aware that everyone in the room was looking at him – including the captain. He bit his lip and put down the goggles, a frown forming across his face.

"Yes, sir," he said quickly, hoping he wasn't starting to blush.

Kirk glared back at him, wondering whether he should reprimand him now or later. "Mr Chekov, I know we're short of navigation sensors at the moment, but do you think you can still plot us a course back to Triskelion?"

Chekov nodded firmly, hoping this would show willing and overcome his previous inattention. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

"Good…" said Kirk suspiciously, giving him one last warning glare before pressing a button on the computer. The screen winked off. "That will be all then. Resume your duties. I'll see you all on the Bridge tomorrow. 0600 hours"

The meeting broke up. Chekov stood up quickly and made for the door, his head down. He knew Uhura and Sulu had seen his reaction and would want to question him, but he couldn't explain to them why even the name of Triskelion struck such fear into him. He couldn't explain it to himself. He could remember his time on the planet. He had been taken there against his will with the captain and Uhura to be trained as a gladiatorial slave for the amusement of the Providers. The Providers had lost their corporeal bodies along with their morals millennia ago – all that was left of them were their brains and their ruined cities. Having conquered their physical environment, all that eluded them was Chance and the thrill of life and death and they indulged in this with gambling and cruelty. In return for the freedom of the crew and the thralls, Kirk had bet himself against three of the best thralls – and won. In return, the Providers had taken on a new challenge – to care for the thralls and educate them. Chekov could remember all of this quite clearly, but he was aware of a chasm – a black hole in his memories that he couldn't account for. He wasn't even sure if anything was missing at all. He didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to push it to the back of his memory. At least for now.

"Hey, slow down," said Sulu laughing. "What's the big hurry? Where were you in there?"

Chekov looked down and saw what he expected – Sulu's hand firmly clasped around his arm. He took a deep breath and tried to assume a pleasant expression. "I'm sorry. I've been really busy. I have a lot of work to do." He stepped over the threshold into the corridor, finding Uhura waiting for him the other side. Her expression was one of concern.

"What's wrong, Pasha?" she said, untangling Sulu's fingers from his arm and leading him along the corridor. "The Captain could have given you a hard time in there if he'd been in the mood."

He stopped. He didn't want to be dragged to the rec room for a cross-examination by his friends again. He shook his head with a forced smile. "I've been working all day. I'm really very tired."

Sulu looked nonplussed. "You weren't tired half an hour ago," he countered.

"That's what the Captain's meetings do to me," he tried to say lightly.

Uhura gave him an unconvinced smile. "Your trouble, Pasha, is that you can't hide what you're thinking, and you were fine in there till he mentioned Triskelion."

Chekov froze again. He cursed himself. Even the name of the planet made him rigid with fear and Uhura's understanding of him was as keen as a surgeon's knife. She never missed a thing. The sense of dread sat at the back of his mind like a dark, looming ghost – always just out of sight, always threatening to break out and overwhelm him.

A shiver down his back brought him back to life. "Look, I've got to go," he said hurriedly. He took a step back but found himself up against the bulkhead. His friends had penned him in – a manoeuvre he had fallen for time and again.

"Chekov, said Sulu seriously, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong? What are you not telling us? Did something happen on Triskelion that you haven't told us about?"

Chekov stared back at him. "Nothing…" his voice faltered. "There's nothing…"

"Hi Pasha. Where have you been? I've been waiting for you." The singsong voice of Lita Morrell cut through the silence as she appeared from round the corner. Sulu and Uhura turned as she approached. Chekov saw the opportunity and ducked under Sulu's arm to greet her.

"_Privet, Litochka_," he said, smiling and taking her hand. Her warm brown eyes and soft wave of chestnut hair dispelled his frozen mood in an instant. "I'm sorry. Scotty had me working on deck two and then the captain called a meeting. We were just finishing up, weren't we?" He turned back to Sulu and Uhura.

Uhura's tense stance dissipated in defeat as she watched the young navigator's hunted look break seamlessly into a dazzling open, boyish smile. She saw Lita melt at the thrill of his touch and admitted defeat.

Sulu did the same. "Yeah," he said with a disgruntled look. "Just finishing."

Uhura suddenly felt like an older gooseberry – a feeling she and Sulu had had to undergo with predictable frequency. "That will be all then", she ground out through clenched teeth, unimpressed at his sudden transformation. "I'll want to speak to you again, Ensign", she offered him sternly as a parting shot, poking him squarely in the chest with her finger.

"Yes, sir", he replied formally, coming half to attention. He turned back to Lita.

"Come on. Come with me to auxiliary control. I'll be ten minutes, then I'm off duty," said Chekov, slipping his arm around Lita's waist.

She laughed. "Ok then. Come on."

Sulu and Uhura watched as they headed off back around the corner.

Sulu gave a dissatisfied harrumph. "He's not getting away with it that easily," he said to Uhura. "Something happened on Triskelion that he's not talking about. It's something serious."

"I know what you mean," replied Uhura, folding her arms. "And it's going to come back to haunt him in two weeks when we get there, that's what really worries me…"


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks later the Enterprise slipped into orbit around the pale blue and brown planet of Triskelion. Chekov had managed to navigate them there based on incomplete data, broken readings and memory alone. A small part of him had hoped for an error. A hundred reprimands would be better than returning to Triskelion, he felt. It was with an unexplained sinking feeling that he had heard Kirk's command to join him, Uhura and a security team on the surface. Contact with the Providers had proved fruitless. The next logical step, Mr Spock had pointed out, was to beam down to the surface. He stood glumly on the transporter dias as Lieutenant Kyle prepared the controls before moving to a cabinet by the wall.

. "Standard issue tricorders, Captain?" he asked in his soft English baritone.

"Yes, thank you, Mr Kyle", replied Kirk, fixing his phaser onto his belt as stepped up next to where Chekov and Uhura were waiting.

Kyle dished out the tricorders from a storage shelf in the wall before moving back behind the control panel.

"I'm beaming you down to the co-ordinates you were picked up from last time, sir" called Kyle, his blond head bobbing down to adjust a setting on the front of the panel.

"Very good, Mr Kyle", responded the Captain. He looked round at Uhura, Chekov and the security team. "Ready?" he asked. He eye alighted on Chekov. He looked grey "Mr Chekov? Are you feeling alright?"

Uhura looked over at the navigator. He stood holding himself erect but tense. He looked pale and distant as he had in the meeting as few weeks previously. Stupid, stubborn boy, she thought to herself. Perhaps I should have ordered him to sickbay while I had the chance. Now the Captain had noticed that something wasn't quite right with him. Chekov forced out a brief nod in response to the captain before Kirk turned back to Kyle.

"Energise" he commanded.

Uhura lost herself briefly in the cool, tingling sensation of the golden transporter beam. Gradually the Enterprise began to dissolve and the planet below them began to take shape in its place. When their surroundings finally coalesced Uhura found herself back in the arena she had hoped never to have to see again. It was familiar and yet not so. The paved arena floor looked exactly as it had done a few months previously but the ruined walls that had surrounded it had been hastily built up and restored. The gates to the enclosure had been pulled off their giant hinges and lay abandoned on the floor. Beyond the rubble walls there was now a kind of open air structure made of giant stones. Almost like a henge, she thought. It was a symmetrical arrangement of stones with what looked like script carved onto them. The script continued onto the walls surrounding the arena. She readied her tri-corder. From a distance the writing looked like a mixture of various Federation languages, but she couldn't be certain.

The security team began to fan out. "Is that writing of some sorts, Lieutenant?" asked Kirk, gesturing to the carvings with his phaser, which he had readied in advance.

"Yes, I think so, sir. I'll start analysing," she replied, walking over to the closest stone on the far left.

"Judd, go with her," muttered Kirk to one of the guards. Although the scene was peaceful, something about it had all his senses on edge. He didn't want to take any chances. "Mr Chekov, Mr Elazari, have a look inside that structure beyond the walls and find out what you can. This place isn't as we left it... See if you can get any readings on the Providers, Ensign. They should be here..." _Probably watching_, he thought to himself.

Kirk moved off with the last of the guards to patrol the grounds. Chekov fought down a shiver and slowly followed Elazari out of the arena and into the henge beyond, avoiding Uhura's look as he walked past her. He knew she would be angry with him for not reporting his concerns about returning. But how could he report nothing? The hot sun overhead made the air shimmer in the stillness, making the henge feel strangely claustrophobic. He watched Elazari's back as he strode ahead of him, his broad, muscular shoulders testament to the hours he put in the gym. I've been given the short straw with him, Chekov thought gloomily. He was known to be a bully to junior officers and resented anyone cleverer than himself – which was unfortunate in his case as studies were obviously not his forte. Still, Chekov told himself, he was good in a fight and would lay down his life for anyone of the crew, even a lowly ensign like himself. Chekov turned his attention to his tricorder. He had been given a job to do too and he had to concentrate on it, even if the place gave him the creeps and he had to endure Elazari for a short while. Elazari did not disappoint.

"So how come a navigator gets to go on away missions, Ensign?" Elazari's voice, tinged with vague annoyance, cut through the still, thick air. He pronounced the word 'ensign' with an obvious curl of his lip. He had to point out his junior rank, Chekov noted. "I'd have thought on an away mission like this the captain would only need security. It's not like we're going to need a walking map."

Chekov looked up from his readings and pursed his lips. It seemed to him that it was every security guard's mission to goad him. He wanted to reply that he wasn't a walking map and that there was more to navigating a starship than just following a route planner. The security lieutenant was prowling around the outer edge, his impenetrable black eyes scanning into the dense undergrowth around them. Chekov wasn't sure where the question was leading.

"The captain told me to come. I don't question his orders, sir," he said neutrally, feeling the urge to peer into the perimeter with him.

"And you've become Mr Spock's new apprentice I hear." He stopped and turned back into the outer circle, dropping his phaser down to his side. "You're becoming quite the celebrity on board."

Chekov watched him lean against one of the stones, uncertain how to reply and knowing it was only jealousy that motivated him.

"The crew likes to gossip. Mr Spock asked me to work with him in the Sciences. It's part of my general training as an ensign, sir."

He didn't tell him that Spock had asked him because he knew that he had excelled at all the cosmological sciences at the Academy and that he thought he could see potential in him to become a First Officer. He didn't think that kind of a response would go down too well. Elazari obviously wasn't listening though He looked over his shoulder and surveyed every leaf and twig behind him.

"Well, I'm not so sure I'd be trusting the navigation of ship in the hands of a teenager," muttered Elazari.

"I'm not a teenager, sir. I'm twenty three," replied Chekov, finally feeling insulted.

His tricorder gave an urgent beep. He turned his attention to it with a certain relief at gettong away from Elazari. He set off past the outer stone circle and through into an inner ring, his head bent over the readings. He thought he had seen a fleeting sign of a transporter signal. Elazari looked at him in concern, leaning over his shoulder to try to see what he was looking at. Suddenly a rustle in the tall, brown, dead undergrowth to his right at the edge of the circle made his head snap up. Elazari had heard it too. He looked back over his shoulder to where he thought the noise had come from, peering through the stones, whipping his phaser up to the ready. Chekov strained his eyes but he couldn't see anything. Probably an animal, he reasoned, trying to calm his screaming nerves. Elazari pushed him to one side, moving off to where the noise had come from before disappearing out of the circle and into the undergrowth. Chekov turned back and continued to look around him, nervously eyeing the stones. Here in the middle was a large flat plinth stained a dull green, blue and reddish brown. The rough surface was level with his hips and seemed to have been fashioned by hand and had been cut very crudely, as if in a hurry. He walked up to it and adjusted his tricorder. Was it an altar, perhaps? The tricorder beeped out its analysis results onto the screen. The stains were of three types of blood and had been laid down recently, over the past two months. At least two were humanoid types – Centauran and Procyon in origin. But there was something under the altar. It seemed to be an energy source. Could this be the transporter signal he had seen? He put his hand out to touch the rough chipped stone.

"Sacriledge!" An barely audible vicious hiss cut through the sultry afternoon air from beyond the inner ring of stones. Chekov snatched his had away as if burnt and spun round, looking intently to where the sound had come from, his ears straining.

"Elazari?" he called out for the guard. There was no reply. Only silence. Something wasn't right. Where was Elazari? He had to get back to the others. He suddenly became aware of someone emerging from behind the larger stones behind and to the sides. Three or four large figures, he wasn't sure. He made to run as the men rushed towards him but they were fast and strong. Chekov didn't even make it as far as the outer circle before one of the aliens caught him by his legs and brought him crashing down to the ground. His head impacted with the ground, cutting his cheekbone on a rock and leaving him winded, weak and disoriented. In an instant the others were upon him, pinning him down to the dusty earth, crushing his mouth into the dirt, before hauling him with dizzying swiftness to his feet, one of them clamping a large, foul smelling hand over his mouth before he had even had a chance to cry out. He was held fast.

"Kill him!" a man with a thick mane of white hair and ochre skin rasped at his side with an insane smile. "He has defiled the temple!"

The man holding him ignored the exhortation. "That's for the Provider to decide," growled his captor. He put his mouth to Chekov's ear. "One word from you, Navigator, and your crewmates die." A fleeting thought entered his mind: how did they know he was a navigator? But the icy determination of the voice pushed this aside as temporarily irrelevant and compelled him look though the circles and back into the arena. To either side on the walls he could see humanoids of various species lying in wait, watching Kirk and the others as they moved about. The aliens moved silently out of the way of the guards, remaining unseen and undetected. He froze and swallowed hard, hoping his obvious sign of submission would ally any thoughts of attack on the landing party. In response, he suddenly felt himself being hoisted up by his arms and being dragged back towards the altar. The blow to his head had left him too weak to struggle and his legs gave way under him. He felt sick and hopeless as he was thrown on his back onto the rough surface of the stone. The noon sun above burnt his eyes. He wanted to throw his arms across his face but he found them to be held down by his captors. He expected the slab to be cold but was dimly aware that it was warm, tingling and vibrated slightly through him. An animal fear ran through him at the thought of the blood on the stone beneath him. He didn't want his to be the next to be added. He had to get away. A surge of adrenaline and panic tore at his throat. He tried to struggle free from the hands that held him down but they were too strong. He tried to call out but only a groan escaped his lips. Suddenly the tingling feeling he felt through the stone became stronger. It flooded through him, unpicking every molecule. A transporter, he thought, before he passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

Uhura watched the text scroll across the tricorder. She took samples of the writing and fed them in, allowing the computer to build up its map of the languages. So far she had identified the curly tailed script of Rizan, the block-like Procyon, the dots and lines of Tellarite and the complex hieroglyphs of Ursan. The texts mostly spoke of the glory of the Providers and the humility of the thralls. The Providers were bountiful, all-powerful, all seeing. The thralls were lowly, born to serve and willing to die. She had started with what had looked like the oldest writings but she was starting to regret it. They were dull and devoid of significance. She couldn't be sure how old the inscriptions were. The data pointed to possibly two or three thousand years old. It was all very dry and dusty. She scanned around, looking for something more modern. The tricorder pointed towards the walls near the fallen gates where the script shone white I the grey blocks. She went over and began to scan again but the computer didn't recognise the languages. She looked up to where the captain was talking to Greenemeier and Judd. They were conversing hurriedly and in hushed tones, the security guards pointing to the walls and back down to the henge. She gave a shiver. Those sorts of conversations never boded well. Kirk gestured to a gap in the walls and the two guards headed off and out of the arena. Uhura suddenly felt very exposed without their back-up. She glanced at the readings. Preliminary data scrolled across the small screen. Words and phrases started to form: civil war… outsiders… doctors…uprising… escape… Cyliss…navigator…She had to let the computer process the words and add in the grammar. She let the tricorder continue as she walked over to the captain.

"Trouble, sir?" she asked. She could see worry tugging at the edge of his mouth. It occurred to her that they had been there longer than she had realised, so absorbed had she been in her work. "Where's Chekov?"

Kirk shot her an absent look, rubbing his chin. He was obviously thinking the same thing. Sweat glistened on his brow. "I don't know, Lieutenant. We can't raise either him or Elazari on their communicators. Judd has looked all round that henge over there and there's nothing. No sign of them at all. And evening is coming in fast".

Uhura looked out between the gates and the stone circles. The looked back at her, grey and menacing. "Do you think they've gone on? Perhaps they found something beyond the stones? Gone out of communication range possibly?"

Kirk shook his head. "Elazari wouldn't do that without checking in first."

Uhura watched as Judd reappeared at the gates and moved into the henge. The heat made his image shimmer and reflect in the sand which was starting to turn pink in the setting sun. She could feel a growing concern rising within her. Her worries about Chekov resurfaced. Why had he been so scared when the planet was mentioned? He had been like a taut string all the way back here but he hadn't been willing or able to explain his reactions. Strangely she got the impression that he hadn't even been able to explain it to himself. It was if an abyss opened up every time the name Triskelion was mentioned. He had thrown himself into his affair with Lita Morrell in the past couple of weeks, spending almost all his free time with her, avoiding everyone else. He seemed happy – kept on going on about how in love they both were. Like a love-sick teenager, Sulu had noted with annoyance. He still wasn't entirely at ease about the fact that Chekov was seeing her. He knew that, although Chekov always told himself at the time how in love he was, it was never long until work or other girls vying for his attention got the better of him. Sulu was convinced that Chekov knew exactly how much of a catch he was and played it for all it was worth. And he didn't want Lita to fall head over heels. She was on the helm control team and was Commodore Morrell's youngest daughter – an old family friend who he could really do without upsetting. She was expected to work hard and sit her lieutenant's exams, not waste her time sighing after Russian ensigns. Uhura gave a half smile to herself at the tangled web. _He'll be alright_, she told herself firmly. The Captain had the guards out looking for him. They'd come across him soon. _He's old enough to take care of himself._ And yet the torment of doubt preyed on her mind. Something about him always made her want to look after him and make sure he stayed out of trouble. She remembered the horror she had felt when she had heard that he had been killed on Melkot – shot dead by what they thought were aliens acting out an inevitable execution. She had stayed as brave as she was able on duty but in the privacy of her own cabin she had cried on Sulu's shoulder all night. She wasn't sure why he had that effect on her. In some ways he reminded her of her younger brother, Jahi. She missed his easy-going character and stupid humour and she saw a lot of that in Chekov. He could be earnest one minute and joking the next but his emotions were always raw and honest. But to a certain extent the simplicity of Jahi was worlds away from Chekov. With the young Russian there was a tension between his upbringing, with what he was expected to be and what he expected himself to be, carried along by his keen intellect, and an unbridled passion that expressed itself in his firey temper, recklessness and series of short-lived but intense love affairs and flings. But that wasn't it either. Most of all, like all of her crewmates, it was the living and working together, the fact that they faced life and death together, that created an intimacy and care that went beyond being just colleagues. She knew Sulu felt the same way. Chekov was the youngest of them in their family on board ship and that warranted all their special protection. They knew he relied on them and the mutual trust was unspoken.

"He's been gone a long time. It will be dark soon," she hoped that saying the words might make them sound not quite so bad.

Kirk nodded silently. He pulled his communicator off his belt and flipped it open. It gave its familiar chirrup as it started up.

"Greenemeier, come in."

The communicator gave a brief crackle before Greenemeier's gruff voice sounded from it. "Here, sir. No sign of them yet."

"Where are you now?"

"At the far edge of the henge, sir. I had a look inside. The earth looked very disturbed, like there had been a fight."

Kirk shot Uhura a worried glance. "Where's Judd?" There was no reply. "Greenemeier, come in. Can you hear me?" Suddenly the communicator gave loud crunch and fell silent. A roar went up outside the gates from what sounded like a crowd of running people. Kirk quickly turned the selector, trying to search for a link. "Greenemeier?" he said urgently. He tried again. "Judd, are you there?" But the communicators remained dead. He looked around the arena, quickly pulling Uhura by the arm as the sounds of roaring turned into the clashing of weapons and screams. "I don't like the sound of this," he muttered as he hurried her off to the side. "Phaser on stun, Lieutanant." Uhura threw the strap over her head and shouldered the tricorder. She pulled out her phaser, adjusting it as instructed, crouching low and following Kirk to the gap in the wall that the security guards had left by. They looked through. On the other side could only be seen low scrubby bushes sticking up out of the dry sandy ground. Some taller trees and grasses sprouted up in a clump to their left. Kirk motioned silently to Uhura to follow him. They crept slowly. The battle continued ferociously somewhere just out of sight.

"Can you see anything, Captain?" Uhura whispered.

Kirk shook his head. "Keep down."

Kirk seemed to be thinking that someone – or something – was lurking in the trees. She trusted his instincts and stuck low, like a panther stalking its prey. A slight rustle in the grasses caught their attention. Kirk froze. He indicated with his hand for her to stop. She knelt down on one knee at the ready, watching as the captain moved around the side of the copse. Suddenly a man sprung up out of the undergrowth. He was huge and hairy with two enormous fangs that overlapped his bottom lips. Uhura saw with horror that they were dripping with blood. He raised his powerful arm with a short spear and swiftly took aim at her.

"No!" Kirk's reactions were immediate. He flung himself at her and tackled her to the ground. The point of the spear landed next to her head with a soft thud. The both looked at it in shock.

"Drop your weapon. We have you surrounded." A strident, rough voice sounded through the thick air from somewhere behind them.. The alien spun round. About ten people – aliens of all different races, armed to the teeth with basic, but obviously lethal weapons stood in a circle. The alien gave a roar and ran off back to where the battle seemed to be abating, leaping over Kirk and Uhura as he did so. Kirk stood up, holing out his hand to pull up Uhura as more men and women emerged from the undergrowth and beyond like ghosts, perfectly camouflaged. They were completely outnumbered.

"Federation?" Another voice spoke up from their right. A man approached in what looked like torn and modified Starfleet medical clothing. His dark brown hair was wild and thick with dust and his face bore several scars. He pushed his way through the group of aliens. "Don't harm them," he said to the others, pushing down their weapons with his hands. "They're here to help, I'm sure of it." He stopped in front of Kirk and grasped his hand, pumping it in an enthusiastic and slightly manic handshake. He looked at Kirk's insignia with his wide dark brown eyes. "Captain? Thank god. I'm Dr Tabana. I was with the crew of the _Aki_ medical ship. I've been here for months. I'm the only one left. No other survivors. I never thought I'd see another human again." He moved over to Uhura and began to shake her hand too. "Have you come to rescue me? What ship are you from? Have you heard from any of the others? It's been absolutely dreadful."

"Calm down, take it easy," said Kirk, pulling his hands away from Uhura's and holding his arms at his sides by the elbows. "Tell me what happened. What's all this fighting about?"

Tabana looked around him and at the alien group. "Not here," he frowned. "Too dangerous. Come. This is the Provider's territory. We need to get back to our camp before nightfall. It's not far. The others – they're defeated now. They won't trouble us for a while." He turned to pull Kirk after him but the tall man who had first spoken blocked his way with a spear. He looked like a Procyon to Uhura with his chocolate brown skin streaked with reds and yellows across his torso and arms. He stood in the doctor's way.

"Tabana, who are these people? Why do you trust them?" He looked Kirk and Uhura up and down with a deep hostility and suspicion.

Tabana turned back with a worried expression. "I'm sorry, captain. I haven't even asked you your name. I'm just so pleased to see fellow terrans I'm forgetting myself. But we must hurry."

"I'm Captain James Kirk of the starship _Enterprise_ and this is my communications officer, Lieutenant Uhura. We were here several months ago. We've come back to make contact."

Tabana's frown deepened. "The _Enterprise_? Kirk? The one who freed the thralls?"

"Yes, that's right."

A ripple of surprise went through the group. The Procyon stepped forward. "Then we truly must make it back to camp. We must protect you from the Providers."

"Stop," protested Kirk as the group swept him off and away from the walls of the arena. "I have crewmen missing. My security guards. My navigator."

"_The navigator… the betrayer_…" they whispered the word amongst themselves with a strange significance. Uhura and Kirk exchanged confused looks.

Tabana paused. "Were there three guards?" he asked sadly.

"Yes," replied Kirk. "Do you know where they are?"

Tabana shook his head. "They're dead. The Provider's thralls killed them. We were too late. You'll find them in the henge. When it's safe we can come back for their bodies. Our comrades are there now. They will make sure they are not rouched".

"And Chekov?" demanded Uhura, the same hollow feeling opening up as it did at Melkot. "Is he dead too?"

"Your navigator?" Tabana shook his head. "I don't know. The Provider has taken him. She needs him. We don't know why and what she'll do with him we don't know. If he's lucky, he'll live."

The Procyon pushed his way between Tabana and Kirk. "Look, we need to get moving. Less talking. We must move out," he insisted. "It won't be long before they're back in bigger numbers". The group gathered round them and began to hustle them away from the arena.

Kirk didn't see that there was much choice but to throw their lot in with them for the time being. They couldn't leave till they had found Chekov. He motioned with his head for Uhura to fall in with them. She nodded and joined the silent hurrying group as they headed off across the scrub land and through the low remains of a ruined city and into the oncoming night.


	5. Chapter 5

"I said 'wake up'!" Chekov came to with a stinging slap to the face. His head lolled to one side and straight away realised that he was lying spreadeagled on a cold stone floor. His mouth was full of grit from his fall. It ground between his teeth. He tried to lick some of the dirt from his lips which stung from being rubbed into the earth, but the taste was so foul it made him spit and cough. Another blow struck him across the face followed by sharp kick to the stomach. He rolled onto his side, doubling up and clutching his stomach as he tried to open his eyes, blinking against the bright lights and the throbbing of his swollen cheekbone.

"That's enough, Nassac. He has awoken." A deep female voice reverberated around the room.

He screwed his eyes up against the pain and looked upwards. His head spun, but through the dizziness he could see the white haired thrall that had been so keen on his immediate death at the henge standing over him, arm at the ready to deal him another blow. The man watched him with a violent hunger as he stepped over him and backed away and out of view. Chekov wanted to be sick. The transporter must have had a stun effect, he realised. The nausea and disorientation of the stun blast left him gasping on the floor, his head pounding. Through half opened eyes he could see that he was in a large room lined with shelves and cupboards containing what looked like chemicals and specimens of every sort. Equipment and glassware shone in the white, antiseptic light of the laboratory, their names etched onto each bottle. To his left was a large metal table, sleek and smooth, with brackets on either side on which were mounted leather restraining straps. He gave an involuntary shudder – something about it seemed familiar and significant and filled him with the uncertain fear that had been plaguing him from the moment the name of Triskelion had been mentioned. A bottomless feeling of repetition overtook him. He became painfully aware that there were several people in the room – all watching him in silence. They stood at the end of the table. Two of them were from the thralls who had attacked him at the henge. The one who had held him was tall and strong. He had the lumpy brown skin of a Nivari and the large, jagged teeth of an Arryite. The other he didn't recognise. His yellow cat-like eyes hunted out his every move. Chekov got the feeling that he was eagerly expecting his imminent demise. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, propping himself up with his arms, panting slightly with the exertion and pain from the blow to his stomach. Two other forms caught his attention. Almost at a respectful distance stood the willowy and ethereal Galt, his face just as grey as Chekov remembered, his eyes blank and lifeless. The same black robes hung over his sagging shoulders. Next to him stood Tamoon, his former drill thrall. Her small pointed yellow features glared down at him from underneath her thick bush of silver white hair. Something about her expression troubled him. It had changed. Between them he noticed a glass dome on a pedestal. In it was a brain of a Provider, but not as he expected. Instead of being the pulsating, visceral mass that it should have been, it lay dark and shrivelled. It looked dead.

Tamoon saw him analysing her and the dome. She stepped forward, holding herself erect and proud. There was a confidence in her stance, he noted, and an arrogance that he did not recognise.

"I wagered a bet that we would see you again, Navigator" she said in her gravelly mannish voice. "But we never really thought we would".

Chekov looked back at her in silence, confused by her choice of words and her strange mannerisms. He expected to be greeted by her simple and brutish outlook. Nothing except basic instincts had mattered to her as a thrall. They governed her life – the need to eat, sleep, train, win, procreate. She had been lustful and overbearing which had only repulsed and scared him. But at the same time he had felt sorry for her. As all the thralls, she had been born into the gladiator's life like her parents before her. Indeed, none of the thralls had ever known their families, she had told him. Training began almost from birth and they lived and fought like animals. But this new Tamoon had a presence and an almost imperial gait.

"Why have you come back to Triskelion?" The question was direct and demanding. Chekov looked away. Tamoon swept down upon him and grasped his jaw in her powerful hand, yanking his head back up and round to face her. She bent over him, fury flashing in her eyes. "Don't turn away from me, boy!" she snarled. "Answer me!"

Chekov tried to free himself from her grasp but he found himself in an iron grip. He put an arm up to try and pull her off him, but she was too strong. He considered lying but wasn't sure what that would achieve for him in his present situation. He looked up into her furious green eyes. "We're looking for our aid ships. We're looking for the Providers," he tried to say as confidently as he could, but he could hear the break in his voice. Tamoon bent down even further till she was level with him, her expression suddenly absent and searching. Her lips twitched. He thought she was going to lean forward and kiss him. This change of attitude confused tried to pull his head away but still he couldn't move. As she detected his fear, something shifted in Tamoon's expression, as if she had just remembered something. She released him and cupped his face in her hand. "Yes, I wagered you would be. You are everything she said you would be. Your eyes drew her in but you shut her out. Betrayal comes easily to you, doesn't it?"

Chekov pulled his head away from her. "I did not give you love. There was nothing to betray," he ground out between his teeth.

She shook her head sadly. "How can something so beautiful be so poisonous?"

"You were training me to kill and be killed. It was my duty to escape from you," he said harshly.

Tamoon's face turned white but then a slow sneer spread across it.

She released his jaw with a nonchalant push. She stood up, turning away and walking back to the dome. Galt watched her like a dark sentinel as she placed her hand on the glass top. "But you don't remember the most important part of our story. You don't remember a thing. Good…" She looked down at the dark blue dessicated brain and stroked the surface of the dome as if caressing it fondly. "So you're looking for your aid ships? Well, that's an easy one for me to answer for you. We destroyed them. We risked all and 'll find their hulls to the west of the city. Their crews are probably all dead by now."

Chekov listened in shock at her dispassionate tone. "Killed? But why? We sent them to help you. Why would you kill them?" _And who are 'we'? he thought to himself._

Tamoon turned as if surprised by his question. "Why? Because they came to help the enemy, of course."

Chekov shook his head. "The Providers didn't have any enemies. Who was the enemy?"

Tamoon narrowed her eyes and tilted her head to look at him. "There were more Providers on Triskelion than just the three your interfering captain struck a deal with. It's a big planet, you know. You started a civil war the moment you left."

"But, Tamoon, you were free. The aid ships would have helped you." Chekov was confused. None of this seemed to make any sense. "They weren't your enemy."

She gave a hollow laugh. "Oh Chekov. I admired you because I thought you were clever and because you didn't miss a thing, but you really are being stubbornly stupid. Galt explain it to him."

Galt's mouth opened as a reflex. "The Providers pitted themselves against each other. The destruction was cataclysmic. Those that want the old ways have almost been defeated. The Providers and their thralls who want the new order are too numerous and too strong for us. The end has been coming for centuries but your captain accelerated the process. The Providers must leave. They must return to Cyliss from whence they came. They need to find new planets to conquer and new thralls for their amusement."

"How can they leave? They are just brains in glass… jars…" A slow realisation dawned on him as he spoke. Galt's eyes had not lit up with the fire of the Provider's consciousness when he spoke. He looked from the lifeless lump under the dome to Tamoon. A sneer twisted her thick lips. Horror overcame him. He looked around him, trying to seek out an exit as he pushed himself backwards across the floor, scrabbling for grip. He shook his head in desperation. "No… you haven't… you killed her…" His back came up against the shelves and he could go no further. Small glass bottles fell off the shelves around him, smashing into tiny pieces.

Tamoon looked back at him as if insulted. "Come now, there's no need for that. No, Tamoon is not dead. She's still in here." She tapped her head. "She gave herself willingly to us. When she knew our plan to escape back to the stars she wanted to join us… for the remote chance of seeing you again. She plays for high stakes. I like that." She motioned for the thralls to pick him up. They dived eagerly forward and dragged him up off the floor, pulling him back to Tamoon. He tried to struggle free of them, but they were too strong. "I think it's time we refreshed your memory and put our own strategy into action. Nassac, give me his arm."

Nassac grasped Chekov's arm firmly in his large hand and pulled at his sleeve. The material ripped straight up to his elbow, exposing his forearm.

"What are you doing?" Chekov's dread-laden question went unanswered. Galt drifted over to one of shelves and took down a bottle of thick, green liquid before opening a cupboard to retrieve what looked like a crude hypospray and a small injection device. He brought them over to Tamoon and put them on a table next to her. "The Providers have a long history of science and experimentation," she went on, picking up the hypospray and carefully decanting some of the liquid into it. "We have always been expert chemists, skilled in the art of medicine and neuroscience." She replaced the silver stopper back into the vial before picking up the injector. "I was able, for instance, to transfer my consciousness into Tamoon while preserving both of us. There's no going back for me. And now I am going to control you."

Nassac thrust Chekov's arm out towards Tamoon. He tried to twist himself away with his whole body, but it was no use. He clenched his fist helplessly as she walked over and stretched out her hand to stab the injector below the crook of his arm. He cried out as he felt its pins stab into him. She removed the device and watched the blood well slowly from the wound. "Hush. It's just a small chip. No harm done." She placed the device back on the table and picked up the hypospray. She rolled it between her forefinger and thumb.

"What is that?" he asked, his head spinning.

"This?… this is the marvel. You see, I need you to take me to Cyliss. When you were last here I questioned you. You're a navigator. You're knowledge of the stars is like nothing I've ever come across before. Your ship has traversed this sector for months and you found our home world out there. Yes, I know you've never been there, but I recognised it in your mind immediately. We were exiled from there a long long time ago. But they will welcome us back. And your own world, _mir_, your called it in your language, Earth – it's full of people just ready to become thralls for the most exciting wagering exactly as your captain promised. You will take me to Cylisss. I will rally our people. And then you will take us to Earth. I think a starship will be more than enough to subjugate a planet." She nodded to the thralls. One of them grabbed him by the hair and pushed his head forwards, holding him painfully bent double. Tamoon ran her rough hand across his back and up his neck with a lasciviousness that made him shudder. She leant over him. He could feel her hot breath on his ear. "You were Tamoon's betrayer. Now you will betray your whole world. I call that poetic justice." Suddenly he felt the cold metal of the hypospray pressing into the nape of his neck. He heard its hiss as she released the liquid. He cried out.


	6. Chapter 6

"Uhura, you must wake up. You must have your nourishment." Uhura opened her eyes at the sound of the voice and found herself looking into the pink eyes of slim Andorian woman. Her pale blue skin glowed with a reddish tinge from the dying embers of the fire from the night before. Uhura smiled and sat up stiffly on her small straw bed. She pulled the rough woollen blanket she had been given over her at the chill of the draught. She took the bowl and nodded her thanks. The Andorian's antennae dipped in response. It had felt like a short night. The group had brought them several kilometres from the arena to a group of caves set in what looked like a chain of old volcanoes. Other fighters had joined them in a steady stream, gathering round the smoky fires to eat, talk and have their wounds tended to. Uhura examined the contents of her bowl. It was a thick bready substance studded with what looked like vegetables and scraps of meat. She picked up a little in fingers and tasted it. It was bland but edible. She chewed over her mouthful, watching the camp awakening from its slumber. There were several fires in the cave and the cavern was thick with smoke but no one seemed to mind. It was obviously a place of safety.

The Andorian moved on, pleased that Uhura was eating. She walked over to where Kirk was sleeping and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. She shook him slightly. He opened his eyes blearily, pushing himself up the bed, accepting her bowl of food as he did so. He looked round for Uhura and saw her, sitting on her bed on the other side of one of the fires. Her thick black hair was tousled and had pieces of straw sticking out of it. He smiled and got up, walking over to her, clutching his bowl.

"Good morning, lieutenant," he smiled. "Did you get a good night's sleep?" He put down his bowl on the ground and plucked the offending straw from her hair. "That's better".

"Oh". She put up her hand to smooth down her hair. "I think I slept well. Under the circumstances". She took another mouthful of food. It was starting to become almost tasty.

Kirk looked around at the assembled mass of people and nodded. They milled about, quietly going about their morning chores. "The thralls always were a hardy lot." He looked down at his crumpled uniform. The gold had turned almost brown. "What I wouldn't do for a change of clothes and a sonic shower just now".

Uhura laughed, leaning down to retrieve his bowl. She thrust it up into his hands. "Priorities, Captain."

"You're quite right, Lieutenant." He shovelled some of the pottage into his mouth. It felt good to get some food into his empty stomach. "I checked in with Spock last night. The Enterprise is fine. At least that's one less thing to worry about. As soon as we find Chekov we'll beam up. We can think about brokering a peace after that."

"Captain!" Tabana's voice echoed across the cavern. "Captain Kirk!" The young doctor hurried over, carrying a large wooden bowl. Water splashed over the edge as he walked. He put it down on a crude table next to the fire. "I've brought some water for you and a cloth – well, it's a rag really, but it's the best I can do. Keeping clean is so important. I try to tell them, but some of them never listen."

"Thank you," said Kirk. "I'll let you go first, Uhura."

"The women will be washing in the river later," said Tabana helpfully, handing Uhura the cloth out of the bowl. "I'm sure they'll be pleased to have you join them." He turned back to Kirk. "I've tried to get a regime going for them. It's surely better to die in battle than of poor hygiene."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "That could almost make a Klingon proverb, Dr Tabana."

Tabana shrugged. "Well, actually, a Klingon friend of mine here does seem to say something similar". He gave a sigh. "But it would be better not to have to die in these circumstances at all."

Kirk nodded in silent agreement, chewing over his food. Several of the aliens were sharpening knives. Some were fashioning shafts for spears and lances. The women worked alongside the men, dividing the labour. None looked over the age of forty. A testament to the Providers' games, Kirk thought grimly. Thinking about the Providers reminded him that Chekov was still missing.

"Tabana, back at the arena, when I mentioned I was looking for my navigator… the thralls seemed to know about him. They called him 'the betrayer'. Why?"

Tabana laughed nervously. "It's just a story, Captain. The thralls are very superstitious. Stories start and get out of control like Chinese whispers. I guess it's just another urban myth. The effect of the three of you on this planet was significant. It's no wonder stories were told and elaborated. Rumours, I suppose."

"But why?" Kirk insisted. "Chekov didn't do anything as such when he was here. I was the one that set the challenge to the Providers. It was my responsibility. Tell me what the story says."

Tabana shrugged and moved over to the fire. He retrieved a stick from next to it and began to poke it, sending sparks flying up into the darkness of the cave's roof. "The story goes that your navigator was taken by a Provider to reveal the location of Cyliss."

"Cyliss?" asked Uhura with a frown, wringing out her piece of cloth. She put it down on the table and moved over to stand next to Kirk. "That was one of the words mentioned on the walls of the arena. My tricorder picked it up during the translation."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "What is it? I've never heard of it."

Tabana shook his head. "Neither had I till I came here. It's the Providers' home world. The place they came from. Exiled apparently."

"But even if Chekov did do that," said Uhura, "why would that be bad? All that's left of the Providers is their brains. Someone would have to load them up and take them away."

Kirk nodded in agreement. "And there's nothing wrong with wanting to go home."

Tabana threw the stick into the fire. "I don't know. They just say that he did it willingly and that the decision to do so was his own choice. I don't know why some of the Providers want to go home now. Maybe the civil war has made them homesick. The Providers on our side are winning. Perhaps the others think they have nowhere else to go."

"So why did they call Chekov the 'betrayer'? Who could he be betraying?" asked Kirk. "Not us, surely."

"Chekov would never do that," said Uhura firmly. "He's one of crew. We trust him with our lives. He has no allegiance to the Providers. He didn't even want to come back here."

"I really don't know," said Tabana apologetically. "That's all I know of the story. By revealing Cyliss he betrays us all. Torrit might be able to tell you more. He's the leader of this group. He's the only one who has any dealings with the Providers who freed the thralls. They prefer not to interfere with us now, but they're on our side."

A sudden cry went up from outside the cave. The thralls looked up from their chores in trepidation, reaching for their weapons and rising to their feet. Kirk and Uhura moved forward to the entrance with them, straining to see what the commotion was all about. More shouts followed.

Kirk pulled one of the thralls by the arm. "What is it? What have they seen?"

The grey skinned woman looked back at him with round black eyes. "Strangers are coming," she said tensely. "They might be spies from the enemy. A scouting party found them." She moved off into the crowd to get a better look. Kirk followed her. Out of the mist a group began to form, walking quickly towards the caves. In the midst of a circle of aliens he caught a glimpse of a gold and black shirt. The crowd in the cave began to part deferentially. From the back of the cave, a tall alien walked forward through the path that they made. He was thickset with blueish black hair like a raven and a wide forehead. His clothes were made of fleeces and furs crudely stitched together. Kirk didn't recognise his species. Kirk tried to move forward but found his way blocked by the spears of what had suddenly become an armed guard. He turned to find Tabana at his shoulder.

"That's Chekov," he said. "I need to talk to him."

Tabana shook his head quickly. "No, Captain. Torrit must speak to him first. No strangers ever get in here without going through him first."

"Then I need to speak to Torrit," he insisted, stepping forward. He stopped as Tabana gripped his arm insistently.

"No. Don't interfere. They'll kill you without question."

Kirk was surprised at the sincerity of his tone and stopped. He decided to hold his ground and stay where he was. He sensed Uhura moving to stand next to him. He turned to see the worry on her face.

Torrit stood at the entrance to the cave on the edge of the plain, an escort of armed thralls flanking him on either side. The mists rolled dismally in the background through the stubby tufts of grass and meagre bushes. The scout party brought forward their prisoners and thrust them forward. At the nod of Torrit's head they pulled Chekov to his knees in front of him. The Russian winced as he hit the ground. Behind him, Uhura could make out another familiar figure – the stout, muscular form of Tamoon, Chekov's former drill thrall. Uhura gave a quiet gasp as she recognised her. She didn't look well. She hung limply in the arms of two of the scouts. Uhura couldn't tell if she was alive or dead. Chekov looked exhausted and dirty. He knelt, swaying slightly on the damp ground. His uniform was ripped at the arms. Uhura could see that his wrists and lips were cut and bruised and there was a large gash across his cheekbone.

"Who are you?" asked Torrit in his deep booming voice. The crowd at the cave fell silent and listened, hardly daring to breathe.

Chekov hung his head, his eyes shut. He murmured something. Uhura could see his lips moving.

"Speak louder!" commanded Torrit, his eyes flashing.

"Chekov," he said hoarsely. "Chekov…" He repeated the name distractedly, frowning with the effort.

"And where have you come from? Have you come from the enemy?"

Chekov shook his head, still not looking up. It seemed like every movement cost him his draining energy. "I was captured. Tamoon…" he raised his arm weakly to gesture to her. "She helped me to escape. We were ambushed. She's been hurt."

Torrit turned to the crowd. "Tabana!" he called. "The female is wounded. See to her. We'll deal with her later."

The doctor pushed past Kirk and through the wall of spears that were raised at Torrit's command. He went over to the scouts who were holding Tamoon. He spoke to them quietly, instructing them to lay her on the ground. They obeyed roughly. He then went over to Torrit. Kirk strained to hear the conversation but a few seconds later, Torrit nodded and Tamoon was picked up and taken into the cave. Chekov raised his head momentarily as they went past.

Torrit turned back to Chekov. "Have you been sent as a spy? Have you come from Senrug? Tell us where she is. If you don't tell me I'll instruct my cohort here to force it from you. You'll find their methods are crude but effective.

"Nothing… I can't tell you anything…" He lifted his head, trying to focus his eyes. "I don't remember…"

Torrit drew himself up to his full height, displeased at the reply. "Ole," he growled to the guard on his left. The man was as the same species as Torrit, likewise dressed in furs and coarse cloth. He stepped forward eagerly at the command. "I think the boy needs some help in remembering."

Ole pulled Chekov up and thrust him backwards into the waiting arms of the scouts. With slow deliberation he pulled out a crude knife from a leather scabbard on his belt. The blade was of a dull metal but the edge was serrated with sharp teeth. Chekov watched him as if in a daze. He didn't seem to be completely aware of what was going on.

"What part does he want to lose first, Torrit?" he asked in a thin voice with a spiteful smile.

"Nothing too important, Ole," Torrit replied. "I might let you have him after you've finished," An unpleasant guffaw went up through the scouts and the guards. They moved in closer to watch like wolves waiting for the kill.

Anger welled up in Kirk as the scene played out in front of him. He knew what the conclusion would be. He had watched as the Klingons had tortured his navigator two years previously on a distant planet He remembered his screams as he lay on the dusty earth, the Klingons kneeling on his arms to hold him down as he writhed in in escapable pain. The actions had outraged Kirk to speechless ness. The same feelings of helplessness and loathing welled up in him now. He wasn't going to stand by and let that happen again here. Kirk could not contain himself any longer. He forced his way through the armed guard to stand in the path that they made. The spears immediately closed in around him. "Torrit!" he called out. "I can answer for him. This is Ensign Chekov. He's my navigator."

A ripple of alarm went through the group. Torrit glared back at him. "Navigator? If this is the navigator, then he deserves to die."

"Why?" retorted Kirk immediately. "He hasn't done anything wrong. But you… Tabana told me you were good people. You're behaving like animals"

"Bring him here," said Torrit lazily to one of his guards, ignoring Kirk.

They grabbed him by the arms and pulled him over. Kirk glanced over at Chekov. He was looking back at him with recognition and relief. Kirk sized up the leader of the thralls in silence. Something in his look changed Torrit's stance. Kirk saw the respect as he realised who he was.

"Are you Captain Kirk from the Enterprise?" he asked, trying not to let the sound of awe enter his tone. Kirk picked up on it immediately.

"Yes, that's right. And over there is Uhura, my communications officer." The crowd parted to let her through. "We freed you from the Providers. They promised to look after you and educate you after we left. We sent ships to help. Dr Tabana has told me about the civil war. I have to return to my ship with my people if I am going to be able to help you further."

Torrit's eyes narrowed. "Leaving us to our fate again, Captain?"

"No," said Kirk emphatically. "I will stay and broker a peace between your Providers and those that want the old ways."

Torrit remained silent as he digested the information. "If this had come from anyone else, Kirk, then I would not have believed them. But you have changed our planet beyond all recognition. I can't stop you. I know ship is more powerful than anything we can defend against. But your navigator… are you really going to take him with you? You know what our stories say. He will betray you and the damage will never be undone."

"Yes, I'm taking him. Stories are just that – stories, corruptions of the truth. Let us show you this time how we can help you. I'll stop this war and you can continue to prosper and flourish."

Torrit gestured to Ole and the scouts surrounding Chekov. They raised their weapons and backed away, moving off towards the cave. The crowd parted and swallowed them up. Chekov sank back down to his knees and onto his heels, scrubbing at his face with his forearm. Uhura saw the wounds on it and knelt down next to him. She hugged him round the shoulders. She could feel him shaking.

"Go then," said Torrit. "Defeat Senrug and the Providers us. Bring peace to Triskelion again." He turned and followed his guards back into the cave, dispersing the crowd as he did so.

"Ensign, are you alright?" Kirk stretched out his hand to Chekov. The Russian took it, grateful for the help in getting to his feet. "What happened to you?"

They began to walk back to the cave in Torrit's wake. "I was in the arena, talking to Elazari. I remember getting some strange readings on my tricorder… something like a transporter signal. Yes, that was it." Chekov rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. "Ugh, my head hurts."

"You can have some food in the cave," said Uhura, taking him by the elbow. "I didn't finish my breakfast."

Chekov smiled gratefully. "Thank you,"

"What happened next?" Kirk pressed him.

"We were attacked. I don't know what happened to Elazari. I tried to call out but they had you surrounded. They said if I made a noise they would kill you. I wanted to warn you…"

"It's ok, ensign," said Kirk soothingly, hearing the guilt in his voice. "They tried to attack us too, but these people here rescued us. Go on."

Chekov frowned. "I don't remember much else, sir. I must have come to in a holding cell. Tamoon rescued me. We managed to knock out our guards and escape. We've been running all night. We've not eaten or slept. Then we were ambushed by those thralls. We didn't know who they were. We tried to fight them off but they were too strong for us. Tamoon was wounded. We should go to her, captain."

As they entered the cave they saw Tabana tending to his patient next to a fire. He had dressed her wounds with bandages from his Starfleet medikit. Chekov knelt down next to the young woman, taking her hand in his. Uhura watched him with curiosity. She remembered how on their last visit he had detested her. She remembered his descriptions of her attempts to seduce him, which he recounted with horror. He had shown no regret in overpowering her to escape. What had happened, she wondered, to cause such a transformation? Maybe their escape had brought them together, like comrade in arms? But something like slavish devotion glowed in his deep brown eyes now. It was a look that worried her.

"Will she be alright?" Chekov asked Tabana in concern.

Tabana nodded, sealing off the end of the bandage across her midriff. "Yes, its just a flesh wound. She's dehydrated and there seem to be some kind of head injury – nothing serious that I can tell but I can't deal with it here with the equipment that I've got. It's just a standard medikit. She needs a biobed and you ship, Captain."

"Will you come with us?" asked Kirk.

Tabana gave a crooked smile. "Yesterday, I was so glad to see fellow humans I would have beamed up there and then. But now… no, not yet. My duty is to these people here and now. But send me down more supplies. I need to see this war through."

Kirk stretched out his hand in understanding. Tabana took it in his and clasped it firmly.

"Is she ready to be moved?" asked Kirk, looking down at Tamoon.

"Ready when you are," replied Tabana.

Kirk moved out of the cave and flipped open his communicator as Tabana rounded up a couple of people to lift Tamoon onto a makeshift stretcher to move her outside of the cave. "Kirk to _Enterprise_."

There was a brief pause. "Spock here, Captain. Is everything alright?" He voice was devoid of emotion, but Kirk was sure he could hear just the tiniest hint of relief.

"Yes, Spock, we're fine."

"Jim, is that you? Where the hell have you been?" Dr McCoy's voice became louder as he approached the communicator on the Bridge. As usual, the doctor was unable to hide his emotions.

Kirk smiled to himself. "Calm down, Bones. We've got wounded down here. Mr Spock, four to beam up in your own time."

Uhura and Chekov gathered together with Tamoon on the stretcher behind Kirk. The golden tingle of the transporter enveloped them


	7. Chapter 7

Chekov woke up with a start. His room was dark - pitch black so that he couldn't see anything. He listened like an animal, his senses straining. All he could hear was his own breath heaving in ragged gasps. He was sat bolt upright in bed, his knees pulled up to his chest. He didn't know why he'd woken up. Perhaps he'd been having a nightmare? He wasn't sure. He tried to relax his hands which had gathered up the sheets into two tight bundles in his clenched fists at his side. He rested his forehead on his knees as he tried to slow down his breathing. He was only partially successful. There was a tension in his chest he couldn't fathom. His headache from the day before had swollen and grown into a dull ache at the base of his skull. He clutched at the back of his neck with both hands and buried his face in the blankets. What was wrong with him? Something wasn't right. He squeezed his neck tightly. Perhaps he should go and see Dr McCoy in the morning. The doctor had treated Tamoon's wounds but couldn't find any evidence of the head injury that Dr Tabana had indicated. He put it down to the lack of equipment on the planet and discharged the woman from sickbay. Kirk had lodged her on Deck 9 in the guests' quarters. He had spent the day recouperating. Lita had been to see him. He had tried to enjoy her company but something he couldn't put his finger on had bothered him all day. He hadn't been able to relax and his head had hurt. They had parted on slightly tense terms.

Y_ou must see Tamoon. _

He raised his head and gasped for air as the thought leapt into his head, choking his throat with the force of the feeling. Where had that come from? He tried to push the sudden picture of the alien out of his mind. He gave a shudder as his breathing started to increase again. Tamoon. He had to get to Tamoon. The yellowish features of her face filled his mind like a vague but coalescing menacing presence. The urge to see her – the need – started in the dull ache in his head and spread out and down his body to his fingertips and into his legs, pulling his hands down from his neck and back to the sheets to sweep them off the bed. His legs were dragged as if by an unseen cord onto the floor, straightening him up. He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair to tousle the sweat-soaked strands out of his eyes. He looked at his hand like it wasn't his. It was shaking. This was wrong. This was all terribly wrong. He loathed her. On Triskelion she had used the pain-giving collar about his neck to force him to train and fight in deadly duels and when he had spurned her advances she had used it out of anger to try to force him to return her lustful overtures. She had repulsed and terrified him. He hadn't been sorry when he had overcome his repugnance and eventually used her kisses against her, to take the opportunity to overpower her, to tie her up with his training harness while the captain released him from his cage to join him and Uhura. He watched the smooth sheets slide off the bed and onto the floor, as if draining away like his own will. He had to go to her. He stepped over the sheets, the ache in his skull propelling him forwards to pick up his uniform trousers and swiftly don them. He walked over to a cupboard in the corner and opened it, pulling out a blue and white cotton telnyashka which he had brought with him from home. He pulled it over his head and shrugged into it quickly before heading out into the corridor, oblivious to the strangeness of his attire or the cold floor of the deck on his bare feet. He padded silently towards a turbolift. He didn't care what he looked like – the pain in his head was directing his mind into a single determined urge. The deck was empty. It was the middle of the night and only the skeleton night shift would be about. Nothing would stop him. He paused to wait for the turbolift. A wave of nausea swept over him. He put his arm out against the wall to steady himself. He needed to hold on. It wasn't far. The door slid open and he fell into the small cabin, his knees buckling, grasping at a handle.

"Deck 9," he whispered hoarsely.

The lift sped upwards and sideways at his command, humming soothingly as it went. He leant against the wall, swallowing hard against another cold sweat of sickness ._What is wrong with you?_ came a small horrified voice of reason. _Stop this. Go back. _He thought back to his flight from the cell the day before. Such a coincidence that Tamoon had been there. The guards were all missing. And she'd know how to find the Captain and Uhura at the caves. The lift door opened and he willingly stepped out into the guest quarters corridor. He hurried off down to the left, half way along and stopped. Room 5. He held up his hand, hesitating to touch the call chime on the wall with the little resistance he could muster. But again the pain in his skull forced the palm of his hand to slap it forcefully, leaving it rooted to the button to sound over and over again. _Please answer._

The sudden suck of air as the door flew open drew a gasp from his mouth. Tamoon stood in the doorway. He took in her small muscular figure and the silken orange dress which hung from her shoulders. He felt his mind being torn in two. One last small part of him was desperate to turn and run but the other, more forceful part was relieved at finally being in her presence. Only she had what he needed, he finally realised, and only she could cure the ache in his skull.

She smiled up at him with her thick lips, one hand on the edge of the door, the other twirling a finger through her thick silver hair.

"I've been expecting you," she said in her deep husky voice. "I'm surprised it took you so long."

Chekov stared back at her, a shudder running down his spine and at the sound of her voice. "I… I don't know why I've come," he stammered. "I just knew I had to. Please," he heard his begging tone at an appalled distance. "Let me in."

She smiled with a hint of triumph and pushed herself away from the door. "By all means," she purred.

He followed her inside, fighting against the last tiny scrap of advice that his rational mind was able to give. The room was dully lit save for one small light next to the bed. The door swooshed shut behind him with a firmness that seemed to seal his fate. A faint smell of burnt incense hung in the air. Another wave of nausea overcame him. He sank back against the door and let his head fall back, his chest heaving. Still he had to follow her every move as she glided across the room to sit down on the bed. She fell back into a pile of shiny multi-coloured cushions, pulling her legs up underneath her and smoothing out her orange robes. She patted the mattress next to her. "Come here, you poor boy. You look as white as a sheet."

Chekov found himself obeying without question. He walked over in a semi trance and sat down next to her, unable to take his eyes off the green orbs of her eyes that seemed to glow in the dull lighting.

"What do you want from me?" he asked desperately.

She looked at him in mock amusement, leaning forward, putting a hand on his chest. "But you came to me, remember?"

He instinctively flinched away from her and stood up clutching his right arm. "You're just playing with me."

She gave a guttural laugh. "Yes. I suppose I am," she replied unapologetically. "But you make it so much fun". She pulled him back down onto the bed and clasped his right wrist firmly, turning his forearm upwards. She pushed the sleeve of his shirt up to the elbow. He tried to pull his arm away but her powerful hand held him tight, She began to draw nonchalant circles with her stubby index finger. "You're quite an intrigue, aren't you Pasha? Pasha – I may call you that can't I? That's what I hear your friends call you. Such an exotic name. You choose to be an ensign on a starship and yet you come from such an illustrious family."

"What do you know about my family?" he asked weakly. He felt stifled, unable to breathe.

"I've been reading your files on the computer. They're very easy to access. You father is in Earth's government and your mother teaches mathematics at St Petersburg University. You're rich, talented, well bred… I read about your famous ancestors. So much to live up to. And you're so, so clever. But what you don't realise," She grasped a handful of his hair at the back of his head and forced him to look down. He stared down at his arm in silence, hardly hearing he words through the increasing haze of pain and nausea. "What you don't realise is that in your arm here," she pressed her thumb on a spot just below the crook of his arm with her other hand, "is a small device which delivers precise electrical signals up to your brain. Those signals travel to the base of your brain," She pulled his head roughly towards her. Again he tried to pull away but she clamped her hand firmly around the back of his neck, bringing him forwards so that their foreheads touched. "There they manipulate the hormones and chemicals in your brain so that you will do whatever I tell you, whenever I want you to. For instance: kiss me." He recoiled inwardly as he helplessly closed his eyes and raised his head to kiss her on her orange lips, unable to resist the demand. She dragged out the touch before letting him go. He felt repulsed, disgusted at himself. "Just a small demonstration," she laughed. "Your mind is easily manipulated. You've spent too long obeying orders – all that military schooling, the Academy, Starfleet… The only downside is," She pushed him away from her and slipped off the bed, "the effects wear off after a while because there is a missing ingredient." She walked over to a small metal chest on a side table and opened the electronic lock of the lid. She pulled out a small conical bottle containing an apple green viscous liquid. Something in Chekov's subconscious snapped open in recognition and need. He didn't know why he recognised it but he just knew that he had seen it before and that no good would come of it. Tamoon turned round and held it up, admiring the thick bubbles in the glint of the light. "This is what controls you." she said harshly. "It's highly addictive and it will keep bringing you back to me for as long as I need you." She saw the recognition and fixation on his face. "You know you've seen it before, don't you? And you know you need it."

Chekov felt as if the room were spinning. "How… how did you do this to me? You've done it before, but I don't remember…" His voice trailed off. Forming coherent sentences was starting to become difficult. The pain in the back of his head was becoming unbearable. Tamoon reached back into the chest and pulled out a silver tube. She pulled off the end cap and decanted a small amount of the liquid into it. "What is that?" he asked, dread starting to churn his stomach. He felt like he was watching an already familiar ritual.

Tamoon put the vial of liquid back into the chest. "The same questions every time," she laughed bitterly. "You're an endlessly inquisitive young man, aren't you?" She walked over to the bed and stood over him. He was rooted to the spot and transfixed by the silver tube. "This should all have been completed a long time ago. The first time you came to us on Triskelion we took you and questioned you. You wouldn't tell us what we needed to know so I had to enter your mind. I found what I was looking for. But I needed to give you something to make you forget. I couldn't take you over completely, like I did with Tamoon. You've proved yourself to be a firebrand and I don't need you rebelling against me, upsetting my plans. But your irritating captain put a stop to them. When he bargained with my brothers and freed the thralls, I faced a war. I had to let you go. But in a stroke of luck that only Chance could throw at me, you came back. And now I need you to carry through my plans to their conclusion without realising. So to answer your question, this is a hypospray that I use to deliver the drug into the base of your skull. Or you could just call it a stroke of genius."

"My head…" he said with awful realisation at where the pain had sprung from.

"Yes, that is a disadvantage for you. Still, it concentrates the mind."

He wanted to get up and run from the room and as far away from Tamoon as possible. Every fibre in his body was screaming at him to leave but his mind wouldn't let him move a muscle. "You're poisoning me," he said with breathless horror." Who are you? Stay away from me."

She bent down and put her mouth next to his ear. "Ssssh now, Pasha. You don't remember that I've already answered your questions. You don't need to know. You just need to do everything I tell you and forget tonight when you go. Do you understand?"

He turned his head to look at her like an automaton. "Yes," he whispered. She seemed very far away but all he could feel was that he should obey her. Her face seemed to fill the whole room. There was nothing else – no _Enterprise_, no universe. He just needed her and the liquid.

"Give it to me," he pleaded in a small voice.

With a speed learnt from years as a thrall, Tamoon pushed his head forwards and stabbed the hypospray into the short cut hair at the nape of his neck. He cried out in pain as the liquid spread out around the back of his neck and into his veins and arteries like a wildfire. It crept up the back of his head, spreading out and stabbing behind his eyes. Then, like the waves crashing on a shore, a sharp, tingling feeling of euphoria swept through him from top to bottom. He gave a gasp, clutching at his chest as the ecstatic rush of adrenaline sent his heart racing. He fell backwards onto the bed, the blood rushing in his ears, the room spinning, every object within it etched with a sparking trace of silver. Tamoon's face loomed into view above him. He felt his face flush at the sight of her greenish yellow face that now looked more like a soft beautiful flower. He let the sensation wash over him, revelling in the relief it brought him, breathing in the intoxicating thick smell of incense. He knew that everything Tamoon was going to say would be right and that it had to be done, that only she was perfect and that everything she asked of him would be perfect too.

"Is that better?" she asked soothingly, stroking his cheek.

He let his head fall into the palm of her hand, breathing in her smell that reminded him of summer meadows. He felt light, as if he were floating. "Speak to me. Tell me what you want," he breathed. "I'll do anything for you."

"Good…Now here's what I want you to do and after that… Tamoon has something she's wanted you to do for her for a long time…and now that I have a body again, I'm going to enjoy the experience with her…"


	8. Chapter 8

Sulu closed up the panel in the bulkhead with a satisfied sigh. It was late. Far too late. An hour before he had had a call from a nightshift repair team asking him to come to the Bridge to help reprogram one of the aft thrusters that had gone off line. Sulu had grumbled about having been woken up, but it couldn't be helped. Scotty was working all the hours sent him to finish the repairs started two weeks previously and wasn't to be disturbed on the captain's orders. Sulu had traced the fault back to the bulkhead panel on deck 9. It was easy fix to replace a couple of transducers. He walked over to the nearest communicator and hit the button.

"Sulu to Bridge."

"Crolla here, Sir."

"Tell Cassinerio to get a couple of PTM transducers and come down to Deck 9. It's panel 902-51. It looks like an easy fix as long as he brings variable flux."

"I'll let him know sir"

"Right then. I'm going back to bed."

"Yes, sir. Have a good night – what's left of it."

"Thank you, crewman."

He thumbed off the communication and set off down the deserted corridor and back to the turbolift, stopping when he reached the door. It swished open as his footfall. He was about to step in when a noise caught his attention. Down towards the left a door opened. He could hear voices. One of them sounded like Chekov's. What was he doing in the guest quarters at 2am? Since beaming back up from Triskelion he had spent the day in sickbay being checked over by Dr McCoy. Sulu had been in to see him and he had seemed shaken but well. Not surprising, thought Sulu, after Uhura had recounted his story of how he'd been taken prisoner and escaped. Uhura had been worried about him again though. She thought he had come back in a deep conflict. As first he'd put it down to her usual over-protectiveness of the young ensign. But his behaviour had genuinely disturbed her. He was complaining about not remembering much about his time in between leaving the landing party and waking up in a cell just as Tamoon was releasing him. Nothing about it seemed to add up. Could he be lying? When Sulu had been in to see him in sickbay he kept complaining about a headache. Sulu had taken Nurse Chapel to one side and asked that they could look at him again. Dr McCoy had given him a thorough examination and apart from some unusual brain readings he could only conclude he seemed to be suffering from exhaustion, dehydration and stress – none of which was unusual in his situation. Neither he nor his instruments could see anything else wrong. Chekov had sat in bed, uncomfortable as usual about being confined and having to give samples. That much had been normal. But throughout Sulu's visit he had asked several times about Tamoon and whether she was alright. He was relieved that the captain had allowed her to stay on board while they remained in orbit around the planet. Perhaps he was grateful that she had rescued him – who wouldn't be? But this concern seemed to be not necessarily with Tamoon herself, but with her presence, as if he had some strange need to know that she was there. It was like he was addicted to her and that knowing she was nearby reassured him. Sulu hadn't met Tamoon before, like Uhura had. He saw her in sickbay talking to Nurse Chapel. She seemed haughty and aloof one moment and coarse and physical the next - a real split personality, it seemed to him. He hadn't liked her at all. Uhura had the same opinion. She remembered her as a simple girl – a typical thrall, but one who was obsessed with Chekov. She knew how much she had wanted him. But now it seemed to be the other way around. She had a hold over their friend that she didn't understand and he didn't like it. Sulu had spoken to Uhura about it that evening and they both agreed – nothing seemed right. Lita Morrel had come in to visit him just as Sulu was leaving. He could tell immediately that he was pleased to see her, and Sulu made his excuses to leave, walking out to the sound of their intimate laughter together. He hoped that that would be the end of it. But when he saw her later she had complained that he had mostly talked about Tamoon. She was upset and disheartened, although she had tried not to show it in front of Chekov. Sulu didn't like to see her that way. It was dawning on him that he cared about her more than he was willing to admit to himself.

He walked quietly down the corridor towards the sound of the voices. He thought he heard Tamoon give a low laugh. He rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. It was Tamoon and Chekov. She was leaning against the wall outside her cabin door. Chekov had both of his hands on either side of her shoulders. He leant forward and whispered something in her ear. She closed her eyes and smiled again.

"You must go, Pasha. Go back to your cabin. Forget what happened here. Go now. Remember what I told you," she said coquettishly.

She pushed him away and disappeared back into her quarters, the door snapping shut behind her. Chekov breathed deeply and spun round, sinking back against the wall where she had been standing. He put his head back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. After a few seconds he opened them, staring into space. His dark eyes were black as deep pools of water and he didn't seem to notice Sulu at all. Is he drunk? Sulu thought. He must be, he looks drunk. His flushed cheeks and wide eyes seemed to be full of a desperate ecstasy. Sulu had seen enough. He strode back down the corridor and marched into the turbolift. He knew Chekov couldn't help himself sometimes when it came to girls but this was too much. What could he possibly see in Tamoon? What had passed between them in a day that would turn his head so suddenly? She wasn't even his type and compared to Lita… what was he thinking? Sulu threw himself out of the lift at his deck and headed back to his cabin, determined to talk to him about it in the morning.


	9. Chapter 9

Chekov woke to the insistent beep of his alarm. He rolled over on the bed to look at the time displayed in the clear red light on the wall next to him: 05.30am. He groaned and slumped back onto his pillow. He felt terrible. His arms and legs felt like lead weights. Dr McCoy had pronounced him fit for duty but it still felt like an effort to get himself back into the mindset of routine after the events on the surface. The alarm beeped again, this time more urgently. He hit the small button next to the display to turn it off and sat up with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. He had to get up. He was on duty at six. He swung his legs off the bed and rubbed his swollen eyes. He looked down and suddenly realised he was wearing his trousers and telnyashka. That was odd. He could have sworn he had got undressed before bed. He remembered spending the evening with Lita and that she had left him at about midnight. He remembered her warm kiss as she went out of the door. He even remembered getting into bed, thinking that he was starting to fall in love with her a little. There was no way he could have sleepwalked into getting dressed in the night – he wasn't a child. He stood up and took off the clothes. He threw down the trousers but something about the telnyashka made him pause. He buried his face in the cloth. It smelt of a heavy incense that made him feel nauseous. He shook his head to chase away the feeling and grabbed a towel from a hanger on the back of the door before going into the bathroom. He turned on the sonic shower and stepped in, letting the pulses and vibrations open his pores and massage his skin clean. He gave an involuntary shudder. He felt as if the smell of the incense was on his skin. It made him feel unclean. He suddenly felt a sharp stab in his right arm. He looked down and turned his forearm upwards. There was a small but dark bruise just below the crook of his arm. He rubbed it gingerly. He couldn't remember getting that either. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to let himself enjoy the tingling ultrasonics on his scalp to chase away the tension he felt in his head. After a few minutes he felt a little better and stepped back out into the bathroom. He went to the sink and splashed his face with cold water, avoiding his reflection the mirror. He couldn't bring himself to look, as if afraid of what he'd see. The cuts on his lips and cheekbone had only partially healed. The icy water stung, reminding him of the planet they were still orbiting. He dried his face with the towel and got dressed into a clean uniform. He set off for the bridge, catching the turbolift which propelled him smoothly to the top of the ship.

The Bridge was quiet. Chekov looked briefly around. The captain was talking to Mr Spock at the science station, Sulu was at the helm and Uhura was listening intently to something on her earpiece. She sat up with a worried expression as he walked in and turned away hurriedly to her console, crossing her slim legs as she always did and pressed her finger to her ear. Lieutenant Schenker from the nightshift shut down the navigation console as he approached and exchanged a good morning with Chekov. He reported an uneventful night before heading out the door. Chekov slipped into his chair and keyed in his code. The board lit up and launched into its familiar start-up sequence. He turned to Sulu who was looking serious.

"Good morning, Hikaru," he said, casting him a glance before checking the azimuth sensor data. Sulu didn't reply. He normally greeted him cheerfully every morning, but something seemed to be wrong. Perhaps he hadn't heard him.

"Good morning", he tried again.

"Morning," muttered Sulu, not even bothering to look at him.

Chekov immediately noted the tension in his voice. "Everything ok?" he asked in concern.

Sulu turned his head away from his console and looked at him in disgust, his black eyes glittering. "OK?" he said angrily. "You've got a nerve."

Chekov frowned and sat up. "What do you mean?" he asked concernedly.

Sulu made a noise of exasperation and turned back to his work. He brought up the targeting scanner and buried his face in its hood.

"Anything the matter, gentlemen?" The captain's voice cut over the humming of the Bridge's equipment. Both he and Spock had witnessed the exchange. Kirk stood with his arms folded and an expectant look on his face. Nothing escaped him that might affect the smooth running of the Bridge and Spock's hearing was notorious.

Sulu swung round in his chair and turned to them, ignoring Chekov and looking past him. "No, sir. Everything's fine," he replied neutrally. He immediately returned his face to the scanner, leaving Chekov feeling worried.

"Sulu, what's the matter? What's wrong?" he hissed under his breath, turning his head so the captain didn't hear again.

Sulu flashed him an angry look. "Just shut up and get on with your work, Ensign."

Chekov's mouth clamped shut. Sulu had pulled rank on him. That was warning enough. That never happened.

The rest of the morning didn't go any better. It was a slow day maintaining standard orbit while the captain began to put out feelers to the more progressive Providers. They sat and listened to him start his diplomatic moves as more and more Providers joined in. Their voices boomed over the intercom, often clamouring with each other to be heard. They were worried. Their greatest enemy, Senrug, was missing and no one knew where she was. Some said she had been killed. Others expected the disappearance to be part of a sinister game plan. The crew kept the ship's systems running smoothly. Uhura was busy and did not have time to relax. But if Sulu had to converse with Chekov he did it briefly, as if talking too long to him would sully him. Chekov sat in silence, feeling increasingly angry and agitated. He had no idea what he had done to upset Sulu so much and he couldn't even ask him to find out. It was with relief that he saw Yeoman Rand enter the Bridge with coffee for the captain. Lunch had come. He shut down his board and walked quickly up the steps to the lift. Sulu and Uhura exchanged glances and followed him in. There was an awkward silence. Chekov didn't want to initiate the conversation. – he hadn't done anything wrong. He felt like a schoolboy who had misbehaved but didn't know why. He stared at the wall, avoiding his friends' eyes. The lift came gently to a halt. Chekov followed the two lieutenants out onto the rec deck and into the canteen. He grabbed some soup in a bowl on a tray from a replicator by the door and was about to go and find a table to sit at when Uhura put her hand on his arm.

"Come and sit with us," she said seriously. "We'd like to talk to you."

Chekov looked up into her dark round eyes, suddenly feeling a childish urge to rebel, wondering if he could flash a smile, make some excuse to skip lunch and go back to his cabin.

Uhura, as usual, could read him like a book. She could see him contemplating an escape. "I could make it an order, Ensign."

Chekov paused but then followed her obediently to an empty table in the corner. He sat down, not wanting to raise his eyes, picking up his spoon and stirring it in his soup in a petulant manner.

"Pasha, what's up with you?" Her question was gentle enough, but it was laden with direction and meaning.

"What do you mean?" replied Chekov, trying to sound relaxed, but cursing himself for the sharpness of his tone. He took a mouthful of soup. It tasted strange. It reminded him of something familiar. "Have you tried this soup?"

Sulu looked annoyed, something he rarely did. "Yes. What's wrong with it?" he snapped. He felt Chekov was trying to stall the conversation.

"It tastes strange."

"It tastes ok to me. It's just vegetable. Look, never mind the soup."

Chekov put the spoon into the bowl and pushed it away from him. He suddenly wasn't hungry. The vegetables tasted flowery, almost like… incense. That smell again, bleeding through like a forgotten memory. "Maybe I'm not hungry," he muttered distractedly. He could feel the pain in his head start to work its way back through his skull.

Sulu sat back and gave him a long look, chewing over his food slowly, trying to decide where to start.

"You still don't look well, Ensign. You look exhausted." He said eventually like a doctor's diagnosis. "Not getting enough sleep?"

"You know why I am not well, Sulu. I didn't go to Triskelion for holiday," muttered Chekov, his rising exasperation making him lose his standard.

"So what did you do on Triskelion? You haven't been very forthcoming on the details," probed Sulu further. He immediately picked up on the stress starting to affect his voice.

"I don't know. I've already told you," Chekov replied peevishly.

"And the rest?"

A sharp pain stabbed through Chekov's head. He put his hand up to his brow and leant on the table. "The rest I…I don't remember. Please leave me alone."

"Don't remember… like last night?" asked Sulu quickly. "I suppose you don't remember that?"

Chekov looked up. Sulu was glaring at him. A strand of his dark hair had fallen across his forehead, he had shaken his head so vigorously. "I… no… I don't. What do you mean about last night?"

Sulu pursed his lips, pointing his spoon at Chekov and looking in exasperation at Uhura. "I don't believe this."

Uhura pushed her bowl to one side. She hadn't believed it either when Sulu had told her what he had seen on Deck 9 during the night and usually she wouldn't have cared. Chekov was a young man and he could see who he wanted and sleep with who he wanted. It was none of her business. But there was something about this whole business with Tamoon that disturbed her and she shared Sulu's concerns.

"Pasha, you're not using your memory lapses as an excuse, are you? Because if you are, it's not a good way to deal with this. We're not stupid," she said, trying to sound helpful. Sulu was starting to get wound up and she felt she needed to diffuse the tension or they were going to get anything out of Chekov.

Chekov looked genuinely hurt. "I don't know what you mean. I don't even know what you are talking about. Please believe me."

Sulu shook his head. "Chekov, just admit it. You slept with Tamoon last night."

"_Ty chto?_" exclaimed Chekov. "_Ty s uma soshyol?"_ He felt as if the deck were falling away from him. "I think there's been some kind of a misunderstanding."

Sulu rounded on him. "Misunderstanding? No, I don't think so, Chekov. Maybe on Lita's part – for falling for a snake like you."

"Sulu, I think that's enough," said Uhura firmly, surprised at the unexpected vociferousness of the helmsman's normally tranquil temper, although she was starting to have an inkling of where it was coming from. She knew Chekov would not respond well.

Chekov's eyes narrowed. "Sulu, you're upset," he growled. "I really don't know what this is about but I can assure you I haven't done or said anything to hurt Lita."

"Oh, really?" Sulu spat back. "Well, I know you've treated her despicably." He turned to Uhura, his deep voice sounding increasingly angry. "He tries to make out that he's so well educated and so well bred, but underneath it all he's just a ship's whore."

In an instant, Chekov had sprung to his feet with the fluidity that only pure rage could give him. Chairs were upturned and the food and trays on the table went flying. Uhura leapt up in shock a moment behind him, only just catching Chekov's arm as it went back, fist at the ready to punch Sulu in the face. It took all her strength just to hold him. Shouts of alarm went up around the canteen as a trio of security guards who had been having their lunch on the other side of the room pushed their way past anxious and curious crewmen to get to the argument.

"Sulu, I don't know what you're talking about!" shouted Chekov, struggling against a security guard who had grabbed him off Uhura. He reeled off a round of curses in Russian.

"You little aristocrat!" yelled Sulu over the arm of another security guard. "You think you can treat people any way you want? You knew I liked Lita. I trusted you to treat her well, and yet you had the gall to sleep with that alien at the same time! Or were you just drunk? Is that your excuse?"

"What? You think I would do that?" Chekov was shocked. He hadn't realised that Sulu liked her in that way.

"You make me sick. Why are you trying to deny it? To save face in front of us? I saw you, Chekov."

"What? I don't understand…How?"

Sulu gave a noise of exasperation. "Where were you last night?"

"I… I don't know. In bed."

"So, you're a bare faced liar too. I saw you coming out of Tamoon's quarters at 2am this morning."

"Why were you there?" asked Chekov, trying to take it all in. He was starting to feel dizzy and confused.

"On a repair call. I saw you coming out of Tamoon's quarters. And you weren't just leaving politely, were you? You were all over her. You had her pinned up against the wall outside her door and she was having to push you off to get you to leave. I thought you were a decent person, Chekov. I thought you had morals. Turns out all this time I've been wrong."

"Sulu, I swear, I can't have been there. I don't remember." He felt like he was falling into a pit. He couldn't remember any of what Sulu was saying, but he knew he had woken up fully dressed, as if he had been somewhere else. Could Sulu be telling the truth? He wanted to be sick.

"Oh, try a different tune, Chekov," Sulu spat back sarcastically.

"I think it's time you calmed down, sirs," said one of the security guards gruffly, tiring of what seemed to him like nonsensical bickering. "Or we'll have to report this to the captain." Chekov relaxed slightly, shaking him off with hurt pride as his grip relaxed.

Uhura stepped back in, holding her hands up. "Take it easy, Hikaru," she said. She had never seen him so upset. He saw the insistence in her face and started to gather himself. He took a deep breath, releasing some of the tension as he exhaled. She turned to the guards. "Look, I'm sorry. Let me handle this. They've had a disagreement. I'll calm them down and sort this out. We'll clean up the mess." The guards squared their shoulders but backed off, muttering about a ruined lunch. They walked off back through the room, settling other crewmembers down who had risen to their feet in concern. Uhura lowered her voice. "Chekov, I know it's none of my business who you chose to see, but this Tamoon. Who is she? I know she was your drill thrall when we were last on Triskelion, but last I heard you couldn't bear to be anywhere near her. Now she's got a hold on you. We have no idea who she is or what she wants and she's on our ship. I'd say she's influencing you somehow and you're not even realising. We feel like we're losing you. You haven't smiled in weeks and that's not like you."

"Don't be ridiculous." Chekov shook his head stubbornly.

"I'm going to recommend she be put off this ship as soon as possible and ask Dr McCoy to check you over again."

"No," said Chekov, uncertain as to why he suddenly felt panicked by this. He ran his fingers through his hair. "Don't do that."

"Why?"

He couldn't reply to Uhura's cold blunt question. He sank down onto a chair and put his head in his hands. Why was he arguing with his friends? Why were they doubting his very nature? Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tamoon standing in the doorway. He looked up at her. A curious smile played about her orange lips, as if she had a plan that was playing itself out. She turned round and disappeared out of sight. He felt as if a door had opened in his mind and he had to walk through. The pain in his head vanished and the argument suddenly seemed unimportant.

"I have to go," he murmured distractedly, getting up from the table.

Uhura and Sulu had seen Tamoon too. Uhura wondered how long she had been standing there watching. Sulu saw a remnant of the ecstatic look in the navigator's eyes. He grabbed Chekov's arm as he walked past as if in a dream.

"What are you doing?" he asked, suddenly feeling concerned, all thoughts of the argument evaporating. It was the same look he had seen the previous night and this time he definitely wasn't drunk.

Chekov looked at him without seeing. "I'm sorry," he said softly. He removed Sulu's arm. "I have to go."

He walked out of the canteen as if drifting on air. Sulu watched him go.

"We need to tell the captain about this," said Uhura decisively.

Sulu nodded in agreement. "Now."


	10. Chapter 10

"Get her in here." Captain Kirk didn't have to raise his voice to convey the anger he felt at the news that his chief navigator was experiencing memory lapses and was possibly being influenced by an alien he, the Captain, had taken aboard as his guest. He was pacing the Briefing Room, glaring at Sulu, deep in thought.

"I've already asked security, sir," replied Sulu. He stood by the door, watching his captain, feeling a little better now that his concerns had been aired. They didn't have long to wait.

Tamoon walked in with the studied swing of her square hips, taking little steps as if she were nervous. She gave the captain a coy smile. Kirk wasn't impressed.

"Sit down, please," he said coolly, indicating a chair with his hand. She took it without breaking eye contact, smoothing down the flowing silver dress she was wearing.

_I wager I'll defeat you, you meddlesome little human_, she thought to herself, _and it will be a pleasure. Shanna told Tamoon all about you. You think your good looks can achieve influence over any female? Well, I'll be the one to prove you wrong_. "Yes, captain? Why have I been brought here?" She gave her two guards a look of trepidation as they moved to stand at either side of her. She put her bare yellow arm on the table and rested her sharp chin on the back of her hand, pouting her lips in innocence.

"What have you done to my navigator?" Kirk asked sharply, leaning over the table and placing his hands down opposite her.

Tamoon raised her thick, bushy, orange-white eyebrows. "Me, captain? I haven't done anything. I rescued him from Senrug on Triskelion and brought him back to you. Am I being accused of something? I was only trying to help."

Kirk ignored the blink of her wide eyes. "Since you've been on board, Ensign Chekov had had a loss of memory which seems to focus around the times he spends with you. How do you explain that?"

Tamoon placed her head on one side and raised her shoulders in a non-committal shrug. "I'd say he was lying, Captain. Oh, don't get me wrong, Pasha's very sweet. I think he rather likes me. But I can't seem to shake him off. I think he's becoming a bit obsessed." She looked up at the captain and smiled sweetly.

Kirk pursed his lips. "The last time I saw you together on Triskelion he was telling me how he was glad to be rid of you and you were tied up on the floor of his cell. He didn't give you a backward glance. He couldn't wait to be rid of you. That doesn't sound like obsession to me." He remembered Chekov's relaxed grin as he stood, arms folded, leaning against the wall of his cell as he waited for Kirk to let him out. There had been triumph in his eyes, not regret.

Tamoon remembered the events with humiliation. "There was more to his stay on Triskelion than you realise, Captain," she said darkly, her husky voice dropping even lower.

Kirk heard the change in her tone. "Do go on," he pressed, trying to seize the moment.

Tamoon saw the parry and side-stepped it, regaining her composure. Her eyes widened again. "It would be immodest of me to reveal details, captain." She tried to give a girlish giggle. "Like I said, he keeps coming after me, not the other way around. What's a girl to do? I'm sure you and Shannah had a similar time."

The image of the beautiful drill thrall leapt into his mind. He remembered her thick silver green hair and slim, delicate body. As a fighter she had not been strong, but she had been agile and had a seemingly limitless stamina. It had pained him to leave her. There were not many girls who had really made him think twice about returning to his ship, but she had been one of them. He shook his head. "Shannah has nothing to do with this."

"She missed you, captain," Tamoon continued, seeing she had made an effect. "She was devastated when you left. She joined the rebels when the war began. She fought and died heroically." She tried to add a note of tragedy to her voice. The truth was, Senrug remembered, Tamoon had begun to hate Shannah and her rebellious ways even before the war had broken out. Senrug soon identified her as dangerous. She had to go. Tamoon had been the tool.

"Died, you say?" Kirk straightened up, shocked at the news.

"Oh, yes. I'm sure your name was on her lips, captain. You were her inspiration. You inspired us all," said Tamoon wistfully. She was sure she could appeal to his vanity.

Kirk's instincts were alert. "And what side were you on?"

"With the rebels, of course," she replied, looking hurt. "Senrug had to be defeated. She didn't want anything to change on Triskelion. You offered the Providers the possibilities of freedom and education. She preferred the endless abyss of Chance."

Kirk walked round the room and seated himself on the edge of the table next to her. Tamoon got up, seeing the physical challenge that he was attempting. _You pathetic man_, she thought smugly. _You have no idea that I am Senrug. If I had not taken Tamoon's body I could have read your thoughts and dispatched you long ago._

"It sounds to me that you admired Senrug, Tamoon," he said, leaning in conspiratorially.

Tamoon gave a half smile. "I had to know my enemy, Captain". She moved over to the other side of the table. She didn't want to admit to herself that he actually intimidated her. And that's where I can help you. I can see you're suspicious of me, so I will prove my sincerity to you. I know Senrug is down on the planet somewhere. I can help you to find her. I was her personal thrall before you released us. Hasn't that got to be worth something?"

Kirk looked back at her sceptically. "And how would you propose to do that?"

"She had a base of refuge in the old city. She always said that if she ever faced attack she would go there."

"Tell me where it is," he fired back. Claims of sincerity were one thing – what he needed were hard facts.

"I don't want to go back to Triskelion, captain," she said, a scared look pulling at her thick lips. "You've given me an outlook I never possessed before you came to us. I want your assurances that you won't send me back. I'm afraid. You're accusing me of influencing your navigator – the one all our stories say will betray you. It's not me you've got to be worried about. Senrug has affected him somehow. If you find her, then I'm sure you'll get the answers to your navigator's problems."

Kirk took in her easy, confident manner. She was bargaining with him. She looked anything but scared, but it nagged him that she did seem to be making sense.

"I need Chekov in here," he muttered. He didn't – couldn't – believe that his navigator was lying. Perhaps Senrug had got to him somehow on Triskelion. He walked over to the wall and hit the communicator panel.

"Kirk to Spock."

"Yes, Captain."

"Send Mr Chekov down to Briefing Room 1, please."

"Mr Chekov is not here, sir."

"Then where is he?"

"He advised that you had asked him to assist Mr Scott in Auxiliary Control."

"What? No I didn't…" He quickly reset the controls. "Kirk to Auxiliary Control."

Silence returned his call. He tried again. "Kirk to Auxiliary Control. Come in Scotty." Still nothing. Perhaps they had left. He was about to try intra-ship when the ship gave a violent lurch, sending the gravity controls into chaos. The lights dimmed and everything became weightless for a second before the system reset and pulled everything back down onto the deck with a thump. Alarms went off all over the ship. _We've been attacked_, was Kirk's immediate thought. He reached for the communicator panel again, but Spock had got to his controls first.

"Captain. Helm control has just been diverted from the Bridge. We are attempting to locate the source. Warp three had just been initiated."

He hadn't expected that. "Damage report?"

"Lieutenant Uhura is working on that now, Captain."

"OK. Meet me down in Auxiliary Control."

Kirk spun round to Sulu. "Get back up onto the Bridge and try to get the helm back and drop us out of warp. Do all you can. Find out our trajectory." Sulu nodded. He was always impressed by Kirk's focus in a crisis. It enabled him to follow orders with confidence.

"That will take longer without Chekov, sir." The Russian's skill and knowledge always outshone any of the other navigation team and things always happened a lot faster when he was around.

"Where the hell is Chekov anyway? See if you can find him. Call up the duty navigator and get him started."

"Yes, sir."

Kirk watched as he headed out of the door. He spun back to Tamoon and the guards.

"Miss Tamoon, please return to your quarters. This will have to wait. Lt Branswell will escort you. Donner, come with me. Let's get down to Auxiliary Control".

Kirk and Donner raced out of the room and ploughed down the busy corridor. Crewmen hurried out of the way as they pushed past. They slid down the rungs of the ladders between decks to speed their descent before landing heavily at the bottom, dashing past Engineering and on to Auxiliary Control. The door did not slide open as they stood on the threshold. Kirk opened the hatch to the manual lock in the wall next to the door and pulled the emergency release handle. Nothing happened. Something serious must have occurred for the controls to be dead. Spock appeared just as he was trying to open the panel to the electronics. Kirk stepped aside to let him try the heavy release handle he had just failed to move, acknowledging the Vulcan's superior strength – but to no avail. The door remained firmly shut.

"I'll have to phaser it open," said Donner.

Kirk pointed to the circuitry. "Remember to just target the actuator."

Donner nodded. He raised his phaser, steadying it with both hands and gave one short, precise low power blast. He flinched as the controls crackled and smoked. The door slid slowly open. Kirk gestured silently to Donner to enter the room. He nodded in reply, tense and at the ready to sweep the room. He was barely through the door when he fell back heavily into Spock's arms with a cry of pain, caught in the shoulder from the stun blast of a phaser from inside the room.

"Get down!" Kirk yelled to Spock, pressing himself up against the wall as another blast shot through the door and struck the bulkhead opposite. He leaned forward slightly to shout through the door as Spock lay Donner gently down against the wall, checking him over for wounds.

"Scotty! Chekov! Are you in there? Are you alright?"

At first he couldn't hear anything but then he thought he caught the sound of muffled cries as if someone was gagged and trying to call out.

"_Zamolchi!_" came a vicious hiss from inside followed by a dull thud.

"That's Chekov," said Kirk to Spock in surprise. "Chekov, are you in there? Are you alright, Ensign?"

"_Poshyol ty, ili ubyu tebya._" He voice sounded clear and threatening.

"What's wrong with him? Why is he speaking Russian?" asked Kirk, turning to Spock.

The First Officer raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "We must endeavour to find out, Captain," he replied smoothly.

"Ensign, we're coming in. Please try to stay calm. Don't shoot," shouted Kirk through the door. He stepped over the threshold, his hands splayed in a gesture to show that he wasn't armed. He wasn't sure that he wouldn't be shot just like Donner, but he hoped that Chekov's ingrained respect would make him think twice. As he walked into the room he stopped in shock, unable to believe what he was seeing. On the floor, up against the main control panel, sat Scotty, bound and gagged with insulating tape and with a fresh, deep cut to his temple. He had obviously been hit hard as the wound was still bleeding. The blood had made his hair sticky and had soaked into his uniform collar. Chekov stood beside him, a phaser in his hand. He was holding it against Scotty's head with a steady grasp. Kirk found it difficult to judge his expression, so different was it from his usual demeanour. Although he seemed calm enough, he was pale and his breathing seemed thready. There was a heady determination in his eyes that Kirk realised immediately made him extremely dangerous. A thought crossed him mind that perhaps he was drunk. Chekov's Standard was well known to deteriorate the more he drank.

"Chekov, what have you done? Put the weapon down." Kirk started softly, casting a glance at Scotty. The engineer looked dazed from the recent blow but aware enough of his surroundings to acknowledge the captain's look.

"_Nyet. Uberyaityes ot syuda!_" The reply came back abrupt and angry.

"Chekov, we don't understand. You're speaking Russian. If you've been drinking, then we can sort this out. But I need you to put down the phaser."

Chekov scowled back at him and swallowed hard. "Go away," he ground out disdainfully between his teeth. "Or I kill engineer."

Kirk stood his ground, showing that he wasn't to be intimidated. "You know I won't do that."

Chekov gave a thin smile that did not extend to his dark, watchful eyes. "_Kompyuter, zaklyuchi dvyer."_

The door slid shut at his command before Kirk or Spock had any chance to react. Kirk didn't even bother to turn round or try the door. He knew it had been locked. He raised his eyebrows. "Well, well, Ensign. I knew you were good, but I didn't know you were that good. Overriding the emergency back-up controls and security protocols… that's something I didn't know we'd taught you."

Chekov raised his chin with an arrogant stare. "There's a lot you don't know about me, captain."

Kirk smiled wryly at the reply. He hadn't yet decided how he was going to handle the young man. He wasn't behaving in a normal fashion that he could easily react to. Kirk needed to know more about what was going on before he could make a decision. He changed his mind. He didn't look drunk. His eyes were clear and his hand was unshaking. But it was the wild gleam in his eyes that disturbed the captain the most.

"Chekov, this isn't you. What you're doing here – it's all wrong. I know you to be a loyal officer and a good person. Put the gun down."

"Loyalty and goodness have nothing to do with this," replied Chekov stonily.

"So I see." He nodded his head towards Scotty. "Let him go. You have nothing to gain by keeping him here."

Chekov shook his head, a sneer pulling at his top lip. "No, Captain. That would be foolish. He is my security against you."

"But he's wounded. Let Dr McCoy have a look at him."

"No."

"Ensign, why are you engaging in this unusual behaviour," asked Spock, hoping that a double line of questioning might distract the ensign and put him off guard.

Chekov's eyes flicked over him. "We need to go to Cyliss. I take us there."

"To Cyliss?" asked Kirk taking a step forward. Chekov pushed the phaser harder against Scott's head with an admonishing look to the captain. Kirk stopped. "That's the Providers' home planet. You don't know where that is."

"Again you are underestimating me, Captain. We passed it about four months ago. I mapped it in Talliss System. Clearly I remember it."

"Yes, no doubt you do," muttered Kirk, casting a look at Spock. Normally his navigator's near photographic memory was a boon to him on the Bridge – this time it was a curse. He was starting to detect an arrogance and overconfidence in him and that this pride could be a means to unlocking the information he needed.

"Why do we need to go to Cyliss, Ensign? Who ordered it? Who are you helping?"

"Senrug herself personally asked me," he said, a gleam of obsession entering his eyes. "She trust me. She is beauty itself, but she is under attack from those who do not understand her. She torments herself. I have to help her. I need to do this."

Kirk thought he got the gist of his navigator's broken Standard. "And where is she? I need to talk to her. She's fighting an evil war and I think you've just become a pawn in it. Whatever she's told you, whatever she's promised you, it isn't true. I need you to understand that."

"She not promise me anything," replied Chekov, a feverish brightness flushing his waxy cheeks. "I serve her willingly."

"Then what does she want?" asked Spock.

"Glorious mission to return to her people and to rally them to ways of those they banished. To take this ship to Earth and to take its people for the Games. You offered up our crew last time, Captain. When people of Cyliss see possibilities of whole human race, they not refuse."

"The Federation will never let that happen. She must know that," countered Kirk.

"With starship, odds are good."

"So you're betraying me after all."

During this exchange, Kirk had moved closer. He had manoeuvred himself to a position from which he could gain an advantage. He was now within striking distance. Chekov's ecstasy had distracted him. He had let his phaser fall from Scotty's head. Kirk saw his moment. With a well-practised kick of his right leg he threw his body forwards and down, striking out at Chekov's phaser. He knew that he had to be lightning quick. Chekov was known for his accuracy and unfailingly quick eye. His foot struck home. His aim was good but Chekov's grip on the weapon was firm. As Spock moved forwards to disarm him, he fired the phaser with an eerie calmness. If Kirk had not timed his ascent from a short roll with precision, the shot would have landed true. Kirk lunged at the young man, crashing into him and bringing them both down onto the floor. Chekov however was winded was but not subdued. With a heave of his arms he pushed the captain off him and rolled over, bringing himself over the top and straddling him. He lashed out swiftly at Kirk with his phaser, hitting him in the face. Kirk fought against the explosion of stars in front of his eyes. He lunged out wildly with this arm almost instinctively. He felt it connect with something hard and heard the phaser skitter across the floor out to one side. His vision cleared for a second. With horror he saw Chekov pull out a knife swiftly from his boot. He raised it above his head with both hands, ready to plunge it downwards. Kirk took in his parted lips, closed eyes and intoxicated look as if he were making a sacrifice. The knife flashed brightly like descending lightning. Chekov's expression suddenly changed. His eyes opened and widened in shock. He threw back his head, crying out in pain. Slowly he fell forwards, the knife falling from his limp grasp onto the metal deck with a sharp clatter. Kirk caught him, pushing him to one side as he fell across his shoulders. Spock looked down at him, stretching his hand as if dissipating its energy.

"Vulcan neck pinch?" asked Kirk breathlessly, struggling to sit up.

"Indeed, Captain," replied Spock simply. He offered him a hand to pull him up.

Kirk took a gulp of air and grasped the hand gratefully, dusting himself down and stretching his back. He rubbed his nose gingerly. "That boy can kick a punch when he wants to." He looked down at Chekov. His body lay twisted on the floor, but his face seemed calmer, somehow more recognisable again. "What is going on with him?" he mused aloud.

A stream of muffled noises rose up from the other side of the room, grabbing his attention. "Oh, Scotty. I'm sorry." He hurried over and with Spock's help, untied the engineer's hands and gingerly pulled the thick tape from his mouth.

"…the lad's gone mad. He hit me over the head and tied me up. He wouldnae stop talking in that heathen tongue of his. I had nae idea what he was saying. He's been fiddling with the controls. He's put us into warp without priming the dilithium matrix. I thought he was going to blow my engines apart. He may be an excellent navigator but he makes a terrible helmsman. When this is over, never ever, ever let him take over the helm, Captain."

"Don't worry, Scotty. He's going straight to a secure unit in sickbay. Bones will find out what's wrong with him."

Spock moved over to the controls, assessing them before touching anything. Red lights were flashing over the consoles in a firey dance. "Impressive," he murmured. "I believe he has tied the helm into the antimatter system. He has also made some changes to the navigation controls. At first glance I'd say he has hard-wired a course into the plotting computer. This could take days to resolve safely, captain."

This was not the news that Kirk had wanted to hear. "Scotty, are you up for making a start after Bones takes a look at you?"

Scotty nodded firmly. "I captain. It's just a graze." He hauled himself stiffly to his feet. "Anything to get my engines back to normal."

"Bridge to captain Kirk." Uhura's voice sounded urgently across the intercom.

Kirk stepped over to the panel and thumbed on the system. "Kirk here. Go ahead."

"Captain, a message has just been sent from your location, sir. It looks like it was on a delayed timer. Destination I extrapolate would be… the fourth planet in the Talliss system. It was sent on a priority carrier."

"What does it say, Lieutenant?"

"It's not in any known Federation language, Captain, but I thought I recognised it. I have tied it into the tricorder readings I took on Triskelion at the arena. It may take a while but I'm sure I can translate it."

"A message to Cyliss, Captain?" asked Spock.

"I would assume so." Kirk bent down and picked up Chekov's phaser, disabling it with a push of his thumb. "Spock, get Bones down here. Let's get Donner and Scotty to Sickbay."

"And Ensign Chekov, Captain?"

"Yes, and him too. I want him in a secure unit. He can wake up in his own time. He moved over to the cross-circuited controls in the door security panel and began to unpick Chekov's handiwork. Uhura would translate the message as best she could, however he felt that he probably already knew the content. It would be a call to arms. Even if Scotty got the helm back on line that minute they now had no choice – they had to go to Cyliss. The Providers had to be stopped.


	11. Chapter 11

Consciousness returned to Ensign Chekov like the wash of a muddy stream. His body ached from the neck down, waking him with a shiver. He opened his eyes and looked around him groggily. He recognised his location immediately – he was in a solitary room in Sickbay. Its furnishings were sparse but functional. "_Gospodi bozhe_, what's happened to me?" He sat up on the hard biobed, pulling the thermal sheets around him. Someone had changed him out of his uniform and into blue loose sickbay nightclothes. It was dark in the room. The instruments above his head beeped quietly as they monitored his vital signs. He felt weak and dizzy. He cradled his head in his hands. He didn't know which was worse – the fact that he was in sickbay, or that, once again, he couldn't remember how he had got there. And why did he feel so ill all the time? A cough prompted him to look up painfully to see Commander D'Anjou looking back at him. A phaser sat obviously at his hip. D'Anjou was Chief of Security. A tall man with wavy fair hair and beady blue eyes. He was a hard man and not known for his small talk. He stood outside the entrance to the room. A forcefield shimmered lightly in the portal, scattering its golden light across the impassable threshold.

"Good evening, Ensign," he said drily, his flat forehead lined with a frown. Chekov winced. His voiced seemed unnecessarily loud. A familiar dull ache started to form at the back of his head.

"How long have I been here?" Chekov asked hoarsely. He saw D'Anjou's frown turn into a glare, making him add hurriedly, "…sir."

"About 24 hours."

_That long?_ "What is the time?"

"About 0500 hours."

He shifted position, shrugging the tension out of his neck, and felt a stabbing pain in his left shoulder deep in the joint. His nerves screamed at him. He winced and put his hand up to his neck.

D'Anjou gave a low, unamused laugh. "Feeling the Vulcan neck pinch, are we?"

"Vulcan neck…what? Spock gave me…?"

"A-huh. You really did it this time." There was no humour in the Chief's voice that Chekov could detect.

"Did what, sir?" he asked, already dreading the reply.

D'Anjou gave him a look of disgust. He had been up all night working on the list of charges that the captain had asked him to prepare. It always seemed to him that it was the ensigns who ended up in his care, and Chekov had found himself spending the night in his brig on more than one occasion. But this time Chekov's actions and the list resulting from them had really stood out as exceptionally bad. He decided immediately that the young man must be lying. He couldn't understand why the captain had had him taken to sickbay and not straight to the Brig. If it had been up to him he'd have thrown the boy into solitary for the rest of the five year mission - Chief navigator or not. He was always a troublemaker. He needed to keep his temper under control more often and keep his arrogant mouth shut. "Attacked two senior officers, set us on a course to an unknown planet in Klingon territory, jerry rigged the ship to get us there, sent a message to raise an alien army that's going to take over the Earth and have us all killed for their own amusement. Betrayed us."

Chekov felt himself go numb at the information. "I don't remember," he said quietly.

"Well, how convenient for you, young man. Unfortunately that line doesn't work any more," replied D'Anjou coldly. "When this is over you're looking at court martial and dismissal from the Service for sure. Hell, I think you'll even do time on a penal colony for this one. And you know how much they love pretty young things like you there. You won't last five minutes. The Captain has given you the benefit of the doubt and let Dr McCoy examine you before we drop you off at the nearest Starbase and hand you over to Legal. He thinks there may be something physiologically wrong with you. Until then, the accusations stand."

Chekov ignored the jibe. "What am I accused of, sir?"

D'Anjou grudgingly pulled out a small datapad from his back pocket and pressed a button. The screen sprang into life with a long list. "Now, let's see…" He tapped a few keys and looked up. "And this is in no particular order, mind you… Unauthorised possession of a phaser, kidnap of Lt Commander Scott, wounding of same, assault of Lt Donner, attempted murder of Captain Kirk, unauthorised use of a Priority Channel, gross insubordination, altering the course of the ship without permission… shall I go on? And I haven't even finished it yet."

Chekov shook his head, looking away, unable to meet the commander's steely, accusing eyes. He felt his headache step up another notch. D'Anjou saw his reaction and hit a button on the pad to turn it off. He pocketed the pad again and folded his arms. Silence fell between them. Eventually Chekov forced himself to look back at the Chief. He could see him thinking, his jaw twitching with unspoken words.

"Three of my men died on Triskelion because of you," he said eventually, unable to keep the accusation out of his voice.

Chekov dropped his head. He disagreed, but he didn't want to argue. How could he explain to a man who had just lost three colleagues that it hadn't been his fault, that D'Anjou hadn't been there and couldn't have known how the events had unfolded. He thought back to the time at the henge. Elazari was dead before he had even realised. He had run it over in his head time and time again what he could have done differently. He had been trapped and threatened with the deaths of the entire landing party. He hadn't had many options in the seconds it had taken from his trying to escape the henge to ending up on his back on the transporter. He would have done anything to stop the same from happening to the others.

"I'm sorry, sir" he muttered. "Elazari was a brave man. He died defending the captain and the landing party."

D'Anjou grunted. "Yes, it was his job to defend turncoats like you. A shame it had to be his life and not yours. How do you think I should explain it to his wife back on Earth?"

"I don't know, sir."

D'Anjou continued to contemplate him further. "Why have you done this, Ensign? Why are you lying to us? Did they offer you something? Power… wealth?"

Chekov shook his head, his eyes widening in surprise and insult. "I'm not lying. I don't know even what you're talking about. Everyone is accusing me of things that I don't know that I've done, sir."

Whatever D'Anjou was about to throw back at him, he was interrupted by a voice from out in the corridor. The Chief raised a silent threatening finger before turning and disappearing out of view. Chekov sat forwards, straining to hear but could only make out muffled voices. A few seconds later D'Anjou reappeared.

"Despite this early hour, Ensign, you have a visitor," he said tetchily. "If it was up to me you'd be in solitary right now. I'll be in the corridor, so don't try anything."

He disappeared again. A few seconds later Lita appeared from around the corner. The sight of her lifted his spirits momentarily but the worried look on her face brought him back down again with a crash. She looked scared of him, he realised.

"Pasha, what have you done?" she asked the question in a kind of desperation. She looked into the shadows of the room and watched him get up from the bunk he had been sitting on. The eyes she had loved so much looked feverish and black against his pale skin.

He stepped forwards at her question, putting his hand up but dropped it again, remembering the forcefield at the last moment. "You have to believe me, Lita. I don't remember."

She closed her eyes in hurt. "Pavel, don't lie to me. Sulu told me what happened in the canteen. Everyone knows what you did to Mr Scott, to the whole ship… you've betrayed us all."

"I swear I…"

"I don't want to hear it any more," she interrupted, suddenly feeling angry with him. "You tried to kill the captain in cold blood with a dagger. Why would you do that?"

"I don't know," he replied helplessly.

"Well, let me help you there." She stepped up to the forcefield. Its hum became more insistent with her proximity. "I couldn't sleep. I've been thinking. That's why I had to come and see you. You're doing this because of that alien you've been sleeping with. For some reason that I don't yet understand, you've decided that she is better than me. OK, I understand that she rescued you on the planet and that you're grateful. Of course you would be. That's normal, that's ok. She not the sort of person that I though you would go for… but ok maybe I don't know you as well as I thought. Everyone gets off on different things don't they? God, I'm rambling."

"Lita, I – "

"No, don't interrupt me." She held up her hand and looked away. "I've been through this in my head a hundred times and this is really, really hard so don't stop me. You seem to like her more than me. Enough to sleep with her. OK. But you could have told me." She focused her eyes back on Chekov. "You didn't have to keep me hanging on. You've made me look like an idiot in front of everyone." He saw tears sitting on her lashes at the bottom of her eyes. They caught the lights set in the ceiling above her like tiny diamonds. But as she spoke her voice seemed to become quieter, as if someone was turning down the volume. Eventually he hardly heard a word of what she was saying. None of it made any sense. It was just another accusation on top of all the others he had been bombarded with. He listened to her pour out all her hurt and anger. He realised how much she had liked him. But as she spoke he felt as if he were becoming removed from the moment. The pain in his head was growing and focusing his mind elsewhere. With it came a creeping need for something intangible. He felt it calling and he couldn't ignore it. He needed something but he wasn't sure what. He looked back at Lita's beautiful, angry face with curiosity. Could she give him what he needed? No. That thought made him feel agitated. _Tamoon…_

"You're not even listening to me!"

Lita's accusation cut through his thoughts, startling him. Another wave of dizziness swept over him. The pain in his head exploded down his spine. He screwed up his eyes in pain and put his hand out to the wall to steady himself. He missed and fell against it heavily with his shoulder. He managed to place his palm on the cool metal bulkhead as he slid down to his knees. He felt sick to his stomach and cold. He sat back against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly with his arms. He wanted Lita to go away. He wanted everyone to go away. Why wouldn't they leave him alone? He felt terrible.

Lita stopped talking and looked down at him in concern. She called out to D'Anjou. "Lieutenant, you'll have to come here. What's wrong with him? I think he's ill."

D'Anjou reappeared and peered into the cell, frowning. "Hmmm… he doesn't look like he's faking it. Some of them try it on. I'll call Dr McCoy".

He moved off into the corridor to the communicator. Lita looked at Chekov anxiously through the forcefield as she listened to D'Anjou call sickbay. Dr McCoy's gruff voice drifted across the quiet room "…I'll be there in a minute. Let me get dressed."

Suddenly another sound caught her ear – a rip of static followed by a thud. It had come from somewhere nearby.

"Lieutenant D'Anjou?" she called out nervously, stepping forwards towards the door into the corridor.

Inside the cell, Chekov raised his head. He knew exactly what the noise had been. "Lita," he called urgently. "Stay back. Phaser fire."

She turned to him in confusion. Suddenly the hot blast of a phaser bolt ripped past her right ear. She screamed and dived to the floor, flinging her hands instinctively over her head. She had never come under live fire before. At the Academy they had always been training pistols. The worst you could get was a small electric shock. This was something else entirely. She tried to press herself into the corner, uncertain as to where the fire was coming from. She curled up into a ball and shut her eyes to block out whatever was coming. Another phaser blast exploded in her ear drums. It was closer this time and was instantly followed by a burning pain in her side. She folded her arms around herself. She heard Chekov shout her name. She tried to move but was unable. The slightest movement tightened her up still further. She had been hit. As she lay in a ball she felt someone step up to her and nudge her with a cold metallic object. She forced herself to turn her head and look up. She found herself staring into the barrel of a phaser rifle. At the other end of it stood Tamoon, a look of hatred twisting her yellow face.

"Come to see your boyfriend, have you?" she asked sarcastically. "You're not being very nice to him. I don't think he's interested in you any more, is he? I'll let you watch for now. Then I'll deal with you later."

Lita wanted to reply but the wound left her gasping for breath. She needed to conserve her energy she realised. She was amazed that she hadn't been disintegrated. Tamoon obviously didn't know how the weapon worked.

Tamoon gave her a look of disgust and pushed her aside with the rifle. She walked over to the security panel next to the door and pressed the controls. The forecefield went off with a falling buzz of energy. She walked into the cell. Chekov had already heard her and was trying to get to his feet to move away from her, but the pain and nausea that he felt left him weak and clumsy. Tamoon bent down and grabbed handful of his blue shirt and hauled him to his feet. She dragged him out into the security area and threw him onto the floor. He hadn't the strength to resist and a small awful part of him didn't want to. She had what he needed and nothing would stop him from getting it. He pushed himself up and looked at Lita. She gazed black at him in silence, pleading with her eyes for him to come and help her. He shook his head. She couldn't understand.

Tamoon saw the exchange and looked gloatingly at Lita. She threw the rifle onto a bare table in the middle of the room and pulled out a small pouch from a belt at her hip. She drew out a small vial of green liquid and a hypospray, placing them next to the rifle while watching Chekov with a sensuous curiosity. The Russian's face relaxed into recognition. He hung his head, breathing heavily.

"Pasha," said Lita, forcing out the words through the pain in her side. "What is that? What is she doing?"

Tamoon decanted the liquid into the vial with a well-practised movement. "He's addicted," she said brutally. "He was addicted the moment I gave this to him on Triskelion. He's mine now, not yours. I control him completely – with a little dash of technology. He'd kill his own mother to get this now. Come here, my boy. Get up off the floor."

Chekov pushed himself up with a new found strength at her command. He stood unsteadily on his feet.

"Pasha, please don't do this," cried Lita, unnerved by the possessed look on his face.

"He has no choice," laughed Tamoon. She pulled him forwards by his arm.

"Who are you?" asked Lita. The pain in her side was so great it made her bold.

Tamoon looked down at her. "I am Senrug," she replied, separating out each word with overbearing pride.

Chekov heard the words, but instead of surprise it seemed natural and inevitable. Somewhere deep inside his brain the last of the small dying voice of reason called out to him. _Stop it. Just stop it. Don't go to her. Resist her. She's drugged you, that's why you can't remember. Everyone thinks you're a liar and a traitor because that she is what she has made you. Think of something else… anything… block her out, block out the drug. Don't let it take you._ But the stabbing pain at the back of his head flooded his body, smothering the voice. Instead of the green liquid in the vial he saw the physical relief and mental exultation that it would bring him – a joy so insidious and carnal that it was impossible to oppose it. His guilt and anxiety vanished as Tamoon took him by the back of the neck and pushed him to his knees. He knelt in front of her, his head bowed almost in supplication, willing her to be faster. At the periphery of his consciousness he could hear Lita's horrified voice begging Tamoon to stop. He ignored it. He didn't need her to interfere.

"My god, woman. What are you doing?"

Dr McCoy stood in the doorway of the room and looked in alarm at the scene that greeted him. He heard Nurse Chapel give a shocked gasp behind him. He tried to take in what was going on but couldn't rationally explain it to himself. He saw Morrell slumped in a corner and Chekov kneeling at Tamoon's feet while the alien herself was brandishing something – a weapon perhaps. What it was he couldn't tell at first glance but he knew instinctively it wasn't good. He made a lunge for it. Tamoon saw the move and gave a roar of anger. Just as McCoy grabbed her wrist she stabbed the hypospray she was holding into the back of Chekov's neck. He was too late. Chekov gave a gasp. McCoy couldn't work out if it was in pleasure or pain but the young man fell forwards onto his hands before collapsing on the floor, twisting onto his back and throwing his arms out wide. Tamoon raised her powerful arm and brought McCoy forwards towards her. "Do you want to be next, doctor?" she asked unintimidated. McCoy faced her off, his blue eyes intense with the strain. _Come on, Christine,_ he thought,_ help me out _here. Chapel suddenly realised the strength of the alien. She stepped up next to the doctor and pulled out the hypospray she had come with, flicking the dose to maximum before pressing it firmly into Tamoon's upper arm. The alien turned to her, furious, flinging the doctor aside and reaching for the phaser rifle next to her on the table. McCoy banged back against the wall, but stayed on his feet. Tamoon meanwhile missed her footing. She tried to take another step. Her eyes widened as she fell forwards like a tree felled by an axe. Chapel stepped out of the way as she landed at her feet. She wasn't going to do her the favour of catching her.

McCoy hurried over. "Good work, nurse," he panted. He looked down at Tamoon. She was sleeping. They didn't have to worry about her for the time being. He moved over to Lita. She was still curled up in a tight ball. "OK, Ensign. Don't move. Christine will give you a shot for the pain then we can think about moving you." Nurse Chapel knelt down beside her and pressed a hyprospray against her neck. It hissed its soothing contents under her skin. McCoy felt for Lita's hand at her side and gently prised a couple of fingers away. He angled his head to get a better look. "Minor phaser burn," he diagnosed. "Just wait a minute for the atrazine to do its stuff then we'll get you moved."

"Thank you, doctor," she whispered. "D'Anjou's outside. She shot him. She's Senrug, not Tamoon. She's been drugging Pavel." She wanted to get out all the information as fast as she could in case she passed out.

McCoy stopped and gave her a searching look. "Senrug?" He turned to Chapel. "Can you take over here? I need to take a look at Chekov." He moved over to the Russian. Chekov was lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. His breathing was fast and shallow. McCoy knelt down beside him, pulling out his scanner and running it up and down above him. He passed his hand in front of his face. Chekov blinked autonomically rather than from actually seeing anything. McCoy took his chin and turned his head. "Ensign can you hear me?" He patted his check gently. His eyes seemed to focus momentarily. He smiled and shut his eyes, arching his shoulders off the floor as if pushed up by some internal pleasurable feeling. McCoy's brow furrowed with worry. "Christine, call Nurse Chen. Get four stretchers and let's get this lot to Sickbay. Then call Security. I think Tamoon – Senrug – whoever she is – needs to be in the Brig."

"Yes, doctor."

"I'm going to see the captain. I don't think this is a turn of events that he expected."


	12. Chapter 12

Lieutenant Uhura's Personal Log, Stardate 2264.09. Lieutenant Alatas and I started the upgrade to the sub-space transmitters today. It's quite satisfying to be 'hands-on' sometimes. I was glad to find that I haven't forgotten how to adjust the frequency synthesisers. My legs hurt now, though. Too much bending and stretching. I need to start going to the gym again.

Chekov was released from Sickbay today too. Finally. He's been there for over two weeks. I met up with Christine in the canteen this evening. She said he's been in a bad way. I think that was medical understatement. It began with Dr McCoy trying to figure out what it was he had been drugged with and why none of his medical equipment had identified it when he came aboard. I don't remember the details, but the drug had a masking agent he'd never seen before. He was impressed and angry at the same time. And after Dr M'Benga had carried out more detailed scans they found a bio-chip in his arm that was linked into his nervous system. Almost undetectable. The drug and chip seemed to be working together to affect his brain function. That's how Senrug was able to control him. A side-effect was addiction but Dr McCoy reckoned that ultimately it would have killed him. Since then they've been treating him. 'Fast track detox' Christine called it. Poor boy. I tried to visit him about a week ago but I had to leave. I couldn't bear to watch him. I don't think he even really knew I was there. He seemed to be in so much pain. He was in agony and seemed so confused they thought he was going into shock. Nurses, alarms, people running around... I had to leave. Apparently he had to go through it again and again. But he's made it through. He's stronger than he looks and despite a tendency to fatalism he actually has a robust mind. Gradually he's pulled out of it and has made such a good recovery that Christine complained that for the past three days he has been flirting with Nurse Arany and entertaining the other patients with the most ludicrous Russian stories. I think I've probably heard most of them and I'm sure he makes them all up. So Dr McCoy decided he was back to normal and discharged him this morning. He was pronounced fit for duty and joined us back on the Bridge this afternoon. He was nervous to see us all again at first. He was worried that some people might still consider him a traitor. He still has large parts of his memory missing. But we made sure he settled back in. Mr Spock didn't give him any time to relax and had him slaving away at the science console. He grumbled all day but he loves it really.

As far as things go with him and Lita… well, that hasn't worked out so well for him. She was so upset by the events with Senrug that she has broken things off. Pasha took it quite well. I think he is sensible enough to see things from her point of view and he probably needs a break himself. Either that or he's still in a place where he doesn't need to think about it at the moment. Hikaru has of course stepped in to offer her his support. Very noble! He poured it all out to me the other night. He really likes her and I think, deep down, she likes him too. She's just got to admit it to herself. She needs someone steady and reliable like Sulu. They have already been down to the botanical lab – seems she's quite a plant lover too. Not sure yet if she's a fencing enthusiast. As for Pasha…well, he is still a young man – he's too flighty. Oh, he's charming enough but he would be the first to admit, he's not someone you would marry. Not yet, at least.

Our new prisoner, Senrug, is still in solitary confinement under Mr D'Anjou's watchful eye. He's made it his personal mission that she doesn't escape. I don't know if he was more furious with himself for getting shot or the fact that it was with a weapon from his armoury. Dr McCoy also ran more tests on her to find out what was going on. What he found was remarkable. The head wound that Dr Tabana thought he saw on Triskelion was not so much a head wound as the trauma caused by a Provider's consciousness being mapped onto Tamoon's Lalandian brain. No wonder she seemed to have such a split personality. Rumour has it she's been sitting in her cell talking to herself. Perhaps Senrug has allowed Tamoon out to give her some company. Now that it is known on Triskelion that she is in Federation custody, negotiations have moved on quickly amongst the Providers. The Captain has been able to broker a peace and an inter-species delegation will be arriving in a few days to put a framework in place to ensure that it holds.

Our next mission is, unavoidably, to Cyliss. The captain briefed us today now that we have our navigator back. We are set to arrive in about a week. Once there, we will have to manoeuvre our way past the Klingon outposts and into the Talliss system. We don't know what we'll find when we get there. We'll have to be prepared for anything. I think we are ready. After all the events on Triskelion we need to have this resolved. If the Providers are amassing an army then we must be the ones to stop them. We may be Earth's first and last defence.


	13. Chapter 13

"Kopano, turn that alarm off!"

The tall engineering lieutenant hit the button on his console at Kirk's command. The captain grabbed the handles of his command chair to steady himself as the ship rocked. Another shot from the Klingon ship grazed the _Enterprise_'s shields. The viewscreen shimmered as the energy dissipated. A fresh round of reports began to flood in from around the ship.

He hit his communicator with his fist. "Kirk to shuttle. Uhura, you'll have to go without me. Leave immediately. We'll provide a diversion. Rendezvous back at this position in 24 hours. Understood?"

"Aye, Captain."

"Go!"

Down in the shuttle Uhura leant forward to Sulu sat in front of her. She tapped him urgently on the shoulder. "Go, go! The Captain's not coming." She nodded to Chekov who was stood drumming his fingers on the wall next to the outer hatch, watching her expectantly. "Close it, Ensign. We're moving out."

Chekov grabbed the handle and shut the hatch with a slam, sealing the door. The shuttle pressurised with a hiss. He heard a deep, distant roar and felt the hangar deck beneath them pitch – the ship was taking more fire.

"Shuttle Control, request bay doors open." Sulu's smooth deep voice seemed unruffled by the danger that faced them beyond the ship's shields.

"Bay doors open, Lieutenant. You're clear to leave. Best be quick." The duty engineer's voice sounded tinny over the speaker.

"Acknowledged."

Sulu boosted the idling engines and lifted the shuttle gently off the deck with a smooth push of his controls. He propelled it slowly towards the opening doors. Chekov moved up to the front and took his place next to him, avoiding the glaring green eyes of Senrug. This was the first time he had seen her since she had been in the Brig. He had eventually summoned up enough courage to sit with Sulu and Uhura one evening in his cabin and gone through every last painful detail of what he had done whilst under the influence of her drugs. He had been horrified and disgusted with himself. Despite their protestations that it hadn't been his fault he still felt somehow ashamed and degraded by it. He hated Senrug even more for making him feel that way. He was glad he couldn't remember any of it. He hated her for the pain he had had to endure during his treatment and the danger she had brought on the entire ship. He felt her eyes boring into the back of his head. She sat at the back of the compartment on a bench next to security lieutenant Momani, her hands cuffed behind her back. She sat erect and proud, dressed in a loose black shirt and trousers which had come out of Stores. In Chekov's opinion, this only made her look like a sleek carrion crow, ready to tear human flesh with her yellow claws. It worried him a little that the Captain hadn't made it down. They would have to take Senrug to Cyliss and face whatever was down there without him – an army maybe, a whole fleet ready to launch and speed its way to Earth… they didn't know. Senrug was their hostage and their bargaining chip. It was all they had to go on now that the _Enterprise_ was to depart. They had hoped that the ship could have stayed in orbit - a silent threat above the planet. However, the Klingons had put paid to that, another aggressive scouting party harrying them while calling for back-up. The _Enterprise _had had to leave. Earlier that day Spock had showed Chekov his initial scans of Cyliss and they had revealed an odd planet. Although it was a Class M planet and there were bountiful signs of life, there didn't seem to be any industry. The energy readings were all wrong. Worst of all, the planet was cloaked in thick storms. The storms themselves were natural enough – clouds, lightning, rain, all the usual phenomena – but they were generated from a power source at one of the poles. They couldn't beam down, so intense were the storms, so they had had to take a shuttle. Even this was a risk.

The shuttle moved out of the bay doors and into the vacuum of space. Uhura busied herself with running through her systems' protocols. It always felt colder at this point, she thought. She had been told on numerous occasions that she was just imagining it, but she always increased the heating just a touch anyway. Sulu saw her adjust the environmental controls and gave her a despairing look. He swung the shuttle round towards the planet in a wide arc. It looked small, grey and uninviting. He turned on the rear viewscreen to watch another streak of energy flash its way from the Klingon ship towards the _Enterprise_. He muttered a silent encouraging prayer to Lieutenant Lam, his replacement at the helm, and watched with satisfaction as the ship performed a perfect Pike manoeuvre, rolling quickly out of the way before jumping to warp and disappearing.

"Good work, Lam," he said quietly. At least the crew was safe.

"They can hide, but they'll be no match for the Cylisi army." Senrug's deep voice cut through the low hum of the engines with an arrogant air. "All you're doing is fulfilling my plans. You can't stop us."

"Just be quiet," said Lt Momani lazily, stroking his bushy moustache. His tone expressed how fed up he was becoming with his prisoner. He appealed to the three officers with both hands. "Does she ever shut up?"

"I will raise my army and lead my people to Earth," Senrug ignored him pompously. "When I first met you, humans, I was only interested in your potential as thralls. Now your subjugation will be a pleasure in itself."

Chekov stopped his calculations and looked round. "I thought you had seen by now that we are not as easily defeated as you thought."

"If they're all like you, Pasha, it will be so easy," she sneered back at him.

"_Suka!_" Chekov's temper flashed. He was half out of his seat before Sulu grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. The navigator turned sharply back to his work. Sulu saw his fists clench over his console, his jaw hardening.

"Ignore her, Ensign," he said. "She's only trying to wind you up." Chekov flicked furious, narrowed eyes to the helmsman but remained silent.

Sulu turned and raised a threatening finger at the alien. "Leave him alone. If you don't keep quiet, I'll throw you in that locker over there."

Senrug gave a forced laugh but didn't offer any more comments – the helmsman looked like he meant what he said. Sulu returned his attention back to the Klingon ship. There it still sat, its bulky wings hanging in space, ready to swoop. They weren't firing. It was unlikely their shuttle had been seen but he kept the engines on the lowest possible power just in case. In this mode he always felt like they were tip-toing. He monitored the data coming in to see what the Klingons would do next. Why wasn't the Bird of Prey pursuing the _Enterprise_? He concentrated on the data on his board. "I'm worried. The Klingons haven't moved. Uhura, Chekov, can you see anything?"

Uhura monitored the frequencies her sensors were picking up. Something was going on. It looked like a -

"Shuttle!" yelled Chekov. "Intercept course! Bearing 456 mark 821."

Sulu fired up the engines to full. No more tip-toing – this was a headlong flight.

"Have you got me a course?" asked Sulu, swinging the shuttle round towards the planet with a sickening lurch.

"Aye. Loaded!" responded Chekov, punching in the final command.

A streak of phaser fire shot past their port side.

The navigator recoiled from the screen instinctively. "They're on to us."

"I'm taking evasive. Hold on!"

Sulu squeezed every last ounce of power from the engines as he pushed the small craft towards the planet. Another phaser shot left the Klingon attack craft. Sulu's keen eye timed his dive to starboard to narrowly avoid the weapon's impact. The planet was getting closer but not yet close enough. Uhura and Chekov worked silently alongside him. Another shot lashed out towards them. The craft had gained on them. Sulu had less time to react. The shot grazed the side of the ship, flinging the small shuttle into a sudden spin. Sulu fought for control. He was disoriented momentarily but thankful that the gravity system had remained functional.

"Uhura, damage report!"

Uhura was already on the case. "No damage to the shields or engines but we've got a steady power drain across the whole ship. It's small, though, and gradual. Nothing to worry about at the moment. No systems compromised."

The shuttle sped on its way towards the planet, pursued by the Klingons. As they approached they could see the storms swirling grey and white. Flashes of unseen lightning lit the clouds from below. Sulu didn't have much time to seek out the best place to enter and plunged the nose downwards into where he thought the clouds might be thinnest. If they wanted them, the Klingons would have to follow them all the way down. The small craft bucked as it hit the outer atmosphere. The nose cone turned from red to white as the shields soaked up the friction. They continued the descent till they reached the storms. A violent wind tugged at them, tossing the shuttle around like a leaf. Sulu fought for control but it was as if the vessel was being pushed towards a new direction. The wind was so loud they could hear it roaring outside the hull.

"Where are the Klingons?" yelled Sulu.

"Gone," replied Chekov, surprise tinging his voice. "I can't see them."

"Uhura?"

"I'm not picking up anything. If they made it down, they're nowhere near us."

_It's like we've been separated_, thought Sulu.

"Sulu!" said Chekov urgently, "We're way off course. I'm going to have to recalculate."

A sudden flash of lightning lit up the viewscreen. It seemed to wrap itself around them, snaking along the hull as if looking for a way in. Chekov's console exploded from within sending sparks and components bursting upwards. We yanked his hands away and shielded his eyes just in time. He issued a hissing curse in Russian. "Now I'm going to have to calculate it myself. Where the hell are we?"

Sulu didn't have time to answer. It felt as if someone didn't want them to know where they were going. His hands flew across his board as he strained his eyes desperately ahead. Rain was now lashing down against the viewscreen. It felt like they were underwater. Another burst of lightning struck the ship. Once again its tendrils clung to the sides, spitting and curling like a long thrashing snake. It moved to the rear, lassoing itself around one of the small nacelles. A strange dull thud resounded from behind them.

"Uhura, what was that? Get me a report!" shouted Sulu. He couldn't spare a moment from his efforts and knew Chekov would be busy fixing their position.

Uhura analysed their information as quickly as she could. "We've lost some manoeuvrability. I think you're going to have to put down around here. Wherever that is…"

She saw Senrug sat at the back of the cabin. She looked terrified. She obviously had no idea what was going on. Uhura felt quite reassured by that. At least this wasn't part of her plan. Momani sat beside her, holding onto the curtain of shock webbing on the back wall. He had a firm hand around her arm, keeping her from falling off the bench.

Sulu dived down below the clouds. The planet that greeted them looked bleak and damp. Vast, cloud-topped mountain ranges rose up from a flat plain dotted with broad sinuous rivers and dense green pine forests. In the distance, a vast, broiling grey ocean stretched to the horizon. All of the scenery was on a large, dramatic scale. Sulu circled around peering through the rain at the ground as the wind buffeted their small craft. There didn't seem to be any signs of life – not even birds or animals. Suddenly something caught his eye – stonework. He flew the shuttle down to have a closer look. In the middle of a stretch of forest, tall buildings poked out like dead fingers between the swaying trees. As they neared he could see that the buildings were derelict and vegetation was growing up between the stones. They looked as if they had been abandoned for centuries. The crumbling ruins hinted at what must have been a large and complex civilisation. The tall towers had toppled in on themselves and smaller dilapidated square houses lined smoothly paved roads set out in a grid pattern. He spotted a large clearing – what looked to Sulu like it might have been a large civic plaza. He initiated the descent sequence and landed the shuttle with a soft bump. The crew looked out of the window at the ruined city in silence. Even Senrug kept her peace. The shuttle vibrated slightly as the rain continued to lash at the shuttle in fierce gusts.

"Well, we're here," said Sulu unnecessarily. Somehow he had expected a more dramatic arrival. He had been prepared for a battle, a barrage of communications and enemy fire – not just a dreary abandoned planet. He felt slightly let down and confused.

"Do we have waterproofs?" asked Uhura, suddenly feeing practical. If they were to go outside then they needed something drier and warmer than their uniforms.

Chekov stood up quickly. "I'll go and check." He disappeared into the rear compartment.

"Grab phasers, communicators and a couple of tricorders while you're there," called Sulu after him. He turned to the security guard. "Momani, you stay here with Senrug. We'll take a look outside and see if we can figure out what's going on. It doesn't look like there's much here. I don't think we'll be long." Senrug glowered at him. Although her demeanour was still proud, Sulu could tell she was nervous and concerned. He turned his attention back to his instruments. He began to shut down the engines and run through his final procedures. Chekov reappeared a few moments later with an armful of jackets. They were standard issue all-weather coats. He dished them out. "Great," said Sulu despondently. "They're grey. Just what we need." They shouldered their way into them in silence.

Chekov released the hatch and jumped outside down onto the mossy ground beneath him. He landed with a slight squelch. Even in the blowing gale, the air smelled of damp vegetation and mould. The rain continued to fall around them, although the sky did seem to be brightening up a little. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and zipped it up to stop it from blowing back down again. He put his hand on his head to hold it in place as he stepped forwards to let Sulu and Uhura jump out behind him. They looked around them, steadying themselves as the wind tried to blow them off their feet. The plaza they had landed in looked ancient. Tumbled down stone buildings stood on each side but nature had long ago started to retake the city. Trees and plants pushed through the joints and pavements, spreading their leafy stalks and branches through every crack and crevice. Some of the buildings must once have had elaborate carvings up their columns and across doorways, but these had worn smooth from the eroding effects of the wind and the rain. The soft building blocks were often concave in places.

"Ugh," said Uhura loudly over the wind. "Let's get this over and done with." She had already begun her scans on the shuttle but the data she was getting was sparse. "Where are all those life signs we picked up on the ship? I can't detect anything living at the moment. Surely a place this abandoned would attract no end of wildlife."

Chekov started up his tricorder and let the data start to roll in. Almost immediately his readings puzzled him. "Uhura, you can confirm this? I'm getting life signs but they are non-specific and non-localised. It's like they should be there, but aren't."

"What does that mean?" asked Sulu, pulling out his phaser nervously. He scanned the area around him. The buildings looked back at him, their windows like blank, empty eyes, dripping with rain. Only the moaning of the wind and the sheeting rain could be heard.

"My scans aren't picking up any signs of industrialisation," Chekov continued, his head hidden under his hood as he bowed it over the tricorder. "There's no warp-capable fleet out there, no mechanised armies… nothing. All I'm getting is the power source we detected on the _Enterprise_ that's keeping the storms going."

Uhura ran a full sweep again to confirm. "No, you're right. I'm not detecting any communications either."

"This is strange," said Sulu uncertainly. "It could be a trap." He motioned towards a wide avenue of ruins leading off to the right of the plaza. "Chekov, have a look around those buildings up that street and see what you can find out. We'll try over here. Stay in communication."

Chekov set off across the plaza and onto the street Sulu had pointed to. It was a broad avenue, but like all the other buildings, only ruins and crumbling stonework lined the street. Although he didn't think he had much of an eye for architecture, the buildings all seemed to be of one genre. In fact, the whole city seemed to be in one style as if it had been built in one go and designed by one person. As he walked along he felt the wind begin to ease off a little and a first watery ray of sunshine seeped through the clouds. It was welcome but didn't really lift his spirits. He could do sultry sunny days or clean icy nights, but not rain. He stopped outside a large tall three storey building. It was the most intact on the whole street. It seemed like a good place to start. He walked up its worn grey steps and through the large doorway. He crossed the threshold cautiously as he went from the relative light outside to the inner gloom. As his eyes adjusted he found himself in a large and impressive hallway. A white stone staircase stretched in front of him and split in two as it curled round and out of sight into the reaches above. The ceiling towered high above him, its broken roof riddled with vines and greenery that made a new covering in place of where the roof had been. The grey sky shone dully through the gaps in the plants. He moved further inwards, stepping over a pile of broken tiles that had crashed long ago from the roof and shattered onto the black and white tiled floor below. But what sort of a building had it been, he wondered? A house? An office? He couldn't tell. It must have been impressive in its day, he thought. Whenever that had been. He unzipped his hood and rolled it down around his neck, shaking his arms to get rid of the water droplets still clinging to his jacket. He pulled forward his tricorder from his hip and started up its scans again. It began to work, beeping quietly every so often as it completed each task. He moved over to one of the tall narrow empty windows that overlooked the street and sat down on a window ledge. He placed the tricorder next to him and watched the data scroll by. He had started with the geological data: rock composition from the top down. Since there didn't seem to be anyone around, he reasoned, he may as well gather some scientific data to take back to the ship with him. He looked out at the street. The wind had died away and the rain was starting to ease. He watched the final raindrops fall into the shimmering puddles. The uniformity of the city troubled him, he realised. On all the worlds he had been to since joining the _Enterprise_, each one had had its own culture and style. Every city had reflected the histories and characters of the people who built them. As he looked out over the bland street in front of him, the scene said nothing to him. The uniformity of the designs and even the intricate carvings spoke of sameness. Perhaps that was the way these people were, he reasoned. But they must not have been very creative. It certainly wasn't the city of a people who could exile their own kind across the galaxy. The tricorder interrupted his musings and beeped to indicate it had finished. He picked it up, skimming through the information absently to check for any corruptions. How old _were_ these buildings, he wondered. He found the right section and began to look in more detail. Date of construction:15,000 years ago. He did a rough calculation in his head, chewing his bottom lip as he considered the variables. That would make it about 10,000 in Earth years. Date of abandonment: 9,000 years. No, that couldn't be right. He made the calculation again and re-checked the data: 9,000 years. That would put it at about 5,000 in Earth years. "_Etovo ne mozhet byt!_" he said out loud to himself, standing up in surprise. The dates were impossible. He knew for a fact that the Providers had been exiled a little over 2,000 years ago. They had proof from Triskelion. If the civilisation on this planet had ended 3,000 years before that, then how did the Providers get to Triskelion and who had sent them? He looked again at the power readings they had detected. He thought he knew the answer. He had to get back to the others. He picked up the tricorder and turned towards the doorway.

"_Humanoid, bipedal, male. The brain has four distinct sections interspersed with fluid, enclosed in tissue layers and bone, connecting to a basic nervous system._" A deep male voice resounded around the room.

"_He is young. The brain is not yet fully compatible with the endocrine system_," another, this time female, responded.

"_This could be a feature of his species,"_ posited the first voice.

"_Unlikely,_" dismissed the second. "_The others are fully integrated._"

Chekov froze to the spot, holding his breath in fear. This reminded him of his first arrival on Triskelion. He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, expecting the wagering on his life to begin, but the room fell silent.

"Who are you?" he called out shakily. He placed the tricorder by its strap slowly over his shoulder and reached for his phaser.

"_He is afraid_," said the first voice. "_He is becoming aggressive. See how this major gland is releasing this oxygen hydrogen compound. He is arming himself in defence._"

"Show yourselves!" shouted Chekov angrily, flicking on his phaser to full power. He hated being analysed even in Sickbay by doctors he trusted, let alone by unseen aliens with unknown intentions. The room fell silent again. He stood for a few seconds, uncertain what to do next. He had to get back to the shuttle at all costs with the information from his tricorder. He had to warn the others that the planet was not so uninhabited as it seemed. He looked towards the doorway. There was no sign of any aliens. His path was clear. He gathered himself, took a deep breath and bolted for the door as fast as he could, skidding on the tiles, sending debris sliding across the floor in all directions. But as he reached the threshold he came to an abrupt halt, his eyes closing shut as a reflex. He felt winded, as if he had run into a brick wall. He felt something constrict around his neck. He dropped his phaser and fell to his knees, clutching at his throat at the unseen force that was choking him.

"Please, not again," he begged with the little breath he could. The force closed still further around him. He cried out.


	14. Chapter 14

"Are you picking up any communications yet?" Sulu walked across the rough paving of the plaza, water splashing over the tops of his boots as he trod on the uneven slabs. Uhura was stood a little distance from the shuttle, turning in slow deliberate circles and scanning with her tricorder for any hint of a frequency. She looked up from under her grey hood as he approached, smiling at his grimace as he shook his wet leg.

"Actually, yes. The Klingons. They're trying to signal to their ship."

Sulu's eyes widened at this piece of news. "Where are they? Should we be moving on?" He grabbed her by the arm and started to pull her towards the shuttle, looking over his shoulder expecting phaser fire to begin at any moment.

Uhura pulled against him, bringing him to a halt. "Hey, don't worry. They're five hundred kilometres away. I don't think they'll be bothering us for a while." She thrust the tricorder under his nose and pointed to the readings. "Look."

Sulu stopped and took them in, grudgingly accepting Uhura's cool reaction as he confirmed the distance. "Any others?" he asked, still not completely reassured.

"No," she said cautiously, handing Sulu the tricorder as she pulled down her hood. "Not yet. How about you. Did you find anything?" Uhura noticed that he had pulled down his hood. She had been so engrossed in her work she hadn't noticed that it had stopped raining.

"Nothing either," he sighed. He indicated behind him with a sweep of his phaser. "Just empty buildings."

Uhura saw the lines between his eyebrows as he turned back to look at the ruins. They usually meant that something was troubling him. "But…?" she led him on.

He turned back and gave her a quizzical look as he placed his phaser back on his belt and handed back the tricorder. "Do you read minds, Uhura?"

"No," she said simply, folding her arms. "It's all about communication. I wouldn't be very good at my job if I couldn't read one of my closest friends like a book. So, go on. But…"

Sulu offered her an impressed look but almost immediately resumed his former frown. "But…and I don't want this to sound stupid… the buildings look _too_ empty."

Uhura put her head to one side. "Hikaru, emptiness isn't a subjective concept. It either is or it isn't empty."

Sulu shrugged apologetically. "I hear what you're saying. But you'd think in ruins that are still basically standing, and a lot of them are, you'd see some evidence of the daily lives of the people that lived there… pottery, technology, art… something." He put his hands on his hips and turned back to face the buildings as if in a stand-off with them. "How long have I been looking?"

"About an hour," Uhura estimated, checking her tricorder.

"Right, and I haven't found a single thing. It's like a stage set."

Uhura didn't much like the sound of that thought. She preferred to have faith in what she could see around her. The idea that what they were seeing might have been created for them filled her with dread.

Suddenly a distant cry of pain rang out and echoed down the deserted streets. Sulu and Uhura looked at one another. The voice was unmistakable – it was Chekov's. Sulu turned in the direction which he had sent him shortly before.

"He's in trouble. I never should have left him alone," he said to Uhura. "Chekov!" he shouted back, starting to race across the square. There was no reply. Maybe he hadn't heard him. Maybe he was injured. A hundred scenarios began to play out in his head. He ran on, cursing himself. "Chekov!" he shouted again, his throat turning hoarse with the strain. He fumbled for his communicator, flipping it open as he ran, trying to access a channel.

Momani appeared at the shuttle's hatch, two hands placed on either side of the doorway, alarmed by the commotion. "Uhura! What's going on? Was that Sulu shouting? Is he ok? I'll get my phaser."

Before she had time to reply there was a screech of static from within the shuttle. Momani's face contorted with agony as his whole body was suffused with the energy of a phaser blast set to kill. He vaporised and vanished in an instant. Uhura put her hand to her mouth to stifle a scream as Senrug appeared in the doorway, holding Momani's phaser, a look of triumph twisting her brutal face.

Sulu was half way across the plaza when he heard the phaser shot. He skidded to a halt and spun round. He couldn't see what had happened – the shuttle blocked his view – but he had heard Uhura scream. He was torn in two, not knowing which way to run. He had to make a decision. He flung himself back towards the shuttle, praying that Uhura and Momani were safe. He stumbled over the uneven slabs, this time not noticing the water splashing up his legs. He rounded the front of the nosecone, his breathing ragged with the sudden spurt of effort, and brought himself up sharply. Senrug was stood outside the shuttle's hatch, a phaser pointed at Uhura. He green eyes glowed confidently above the sneer on her lips. She saw Sulu reach for his phaser and in response she raised her own a little more to bring it in direct line with Uhura's head.

"Drop your weapon, Mr Sulu," she said scornfully. "I've killed your security guard. The fool shouldn't have taken his eyes off me for a second. You all clearly underestimate me. He paid the price. Don't make the same mistake."

Sulu stood panting assessing his line and of fire and Senrug's position, calculating if he could get a shot in quickly enough to save Uhura. "Do it now, or this pretty lady here goes the same way. Or," she turned the phaser nonchalantly towards him. "I could just kill you first."

Sulu swallowed hard and reluctantly complied. He tossed the phaser onto the ground to one side, biting back the words of hatred he wanted to spit as her. He watched the weapon clatter across the wet slabs.

"Well done," said Senrug patronisingly. "Now stand next to her. You're going to watch my plans come to fruition. It's a shame that divine young navigator of yours couldn't be here too. Where is he anyway?" Sulu and Uhura exchanged glances: at least Chekov's disappearance wasn't down to Senrug. "No matter…He will join me when I take my place as ruler. If he will not join me willingly then I will persuade him as I did before, only this time I will never let him go. I've been waiting for this moment for two thousand years!" she declaimed, moving cautiously away from the shuttle, keeping he weapon trained on Sulu and Uhura. She stopped and looked around the plaza in triumph. "Cyliss is greatly changed since we left. Her towers have crumbled. My people need a new leader to rise her up. The Games must continue!" She threw her arms wide, turning and calling out to all four corners of the square. "Senrug has returned! I am bringing you a new message of hope. There is a whole galaxy waiting for us to conquer. I bring you examples from a planet called Earth. They are an inventive, cunning people with fighting spirits. They will make excellent thralls. You exiled me two thousand years ago, but I forgive you. Show yourselves to me now!"

Her voice echoed around the square and died away. Complete silence answered her. No one answered her call.

"Show yourselves!" Senrug called again, her face becoming furious. "I am Senrug!" The echoes rebounded from the buildings and faded.

"There's no one there," said Uhura quietly.

Senrug spun towards her, the nostrils of her large nose flaring with incandescent rage. "No!" she screamed. "I won't accept that. They will show themselves to me!"

Uhura took a step towards her and held out her hand. Sulu watched her nervously, worried by her bravery. "We've run countless scans. The life signs are inconclusive. Give me the phaser."

Senrug looked at her hand in outrage. How dare this simpering human female presume to give her orders? "No! Cyliss is mine!" she screamed again, raising the weapon with deliberate slowness at Uhura. She fired.


	15. Chapter 15

"You're hurting him. Let him go." A soft female voice spoke urgently. "Truze, stop it. Don't hurt him." The pain around Chekov's throat stopped as suddenly as it had begun. He fell forwards onto his hands, taking in great choking gasps of air. He hung his head and stared at the ground for a moment, blinking his eyes to dispel the tears of his watering eyes. As his breathing calmed he looked up. Two dark almond eyes set into a shimmering golden face looked down at him. The features seemed to wax and wane but they were definitely female. There was something beautiful about them. They seemed to bore under his skin and into his soul. He looked down, suddenly feeling awkward without really knowing why. He stood up awkwardly in his heavy coat, putting a hand up to his throat to look for the device that had caused him so much pain. To his surprise there was no collar about his neck. He turned his eyes back to the face and saw that another had joined her – a male. Their bodies were humanoid but Chekov found it hard to tell where their forms began and ended. They seemed to flicker and fade as they floated above the ground, circling round him in slow, deliberate rotations. They were carrying small square, hand-held devices which they stopped to look down at every so often.

"Who are you?" Chekov asked, trying to sound confident. He had seen the Captain make first contact on several occasions and an air of confidence always took him a long way. But this time he was on his own, he had been subject to an unprovoked attack and he felt as jittery as hell. He raised his chin defiantly, but it was hard to look comfortable with aliens going round and round. He had met all manner of aliens, but these were strange and ghostly. Despite their ethereal beauty, something about them gave him the creeps.

"I am Balno," said the female simply, her face fading and reforming as she spoke but showing no recognisable emotion. Her voice seemed to do the same.

"I am –,"

"Yes, we know who you are," Truze cut him off like a parent talking to a child.

Chekov looked back at them, not knowing what to say. The aliens checked their devices as if some new piece of information had been transmitted to each of them simultaneously. He could tell they were studying him from the inside out. He wasn't sure what was going to happen next.

"You are the navigator of the _USS Enterprise_ from the planet Earth in the United Federation of Planets," said Balno.

"Yes," he replied. There seemed no sense in denying it. "How do you know that?"

"I can read your mind if I want to." She stretched out her long golden arms towards him, reaching for his head. Before he could react, her fingers touched his temples and he felt his throat constrict as it had before. He felt the alien sweep into his mind as if searching along all the neural pathways of his brain. Memories leapt out at him, childhood songs, Apollo rising from his throne, school friends in their blue and silver naval uniforms, the face of a Tholian, the frozen Neva river, Irina's kiss, … random, disjointed, overwhelming images and feelings. He staggered backwards, turning blindly to look for the exit and stumbling over the debris in the room.

"Don't touch me," he gasped. He held one hand up to his throat, the other holding up to ward her off. He knew that it was a feeble gesture against such obvious power. "I know your people. You cause nothing but harm. You're hurting me." He felt the room start to go black around him as his legs started to give way beneath him. Balno stopped and withdrew her hands, her shimmering face showing concern. _At least they have some emotions, _thought Chekov.

Both Balno and Truze stopped their circling. "If you do not wish it then I won't touch you. I…we… apologise that we have hurt you. That was not our intention. We are not yet fully familiar with your physiology. We are studying it now to try to understand better. You have an excellent memory."

"So I'm told." Chekov replied angrily and guardedly. He was confused. This wasn't what he had expected from the Cylisi. He had to find out more from them. He didn't want to play Senrug as their hostage just yet. Exposed and alone as he was, it would be an easy thing for the Cylisi to kill him and attack the others without warning.

"We have brought one of your kind with us," he began shakily, righting himself. "Her name is Senrug. She used me… drugged me… to contact you to raise an army to join her to conquer my world and enslave us. She wants us for The Games."

The aliens looked up from their devices, a ripple that could have been shock going through them. Balno looked intently at him, her long hair flowing in dark golden ringlets about her face like seaweed.. "Senrug… The Games… that was a long time ago. She was one of the exiles. We haven't heard from them in over 2000 years." Her voice was touched with sorrow.

"They have been continuing your Games on Triskelion," Chekov sent back. If they had heard Senrug's battle cry then these aliens seemed more regretful than galvanized.

"Triskelion? We do not know this place," said Truze. He sounded genuinely confused.

"The place you exiled them to."

"We set them adrift." He indicated vaguely with his hand towards the horizon as if that was the direction the exiles had been sent. "We did not know where they would land. We had to exile them for the sake of our society. They had corrupted the Games. They began as intellectual battles. We used wit, logic and reason to argue whatever concepts we wished to debate. Great prizes were awarded to the most eloquent debaters. "

"They do not sound like the kind of games that were played out on Triskelion," said Chekov grimly. "Each was a physical fight to the death amongst slaves."

"Some were not satisfied with debate and reason. They wanted more…" Truze searched for the right word, turning to Balno for help.

"…Excitement," continued his partner. "In their physicality they wished for higher stakes. We wanted to evolve beyond our bodies to experience purer thought. We wanted to explore life to its theoretical ends"

"So you didn't always look… like this?" Chekov indicated their glowing flickering bodies.

"No." Balno put out her hand. Chekov flinched. Any contact he had had with these people so far had only caused him pain. But her deep, calm stare made him stop. She touched his cheek with the backs of her gossamer smooth fingers. He felt his skin tingle. "Once we looked much the same as you. The exiles wanted to evolve to purify experience and to hone it down to its ultimate source. That could only lead to one of two outcomes: life and death."

"So you are not like them?" asked Chekov, transfixed by the aliens' beauty. Balno shook her golden head. "There are others of your kind?"

"Give me your hand, I'll show you." Chekov hesitated. "Please," Balno said gently, offering him the upturned palm of her hand. He stretched out his own hand towards the alien. As he touched her fingertips the ruined building around them shimmered and then disappeared. He cast his eyes around him. If he didn't know better, he thought, it looked like the room he had been standing in before. He found himself on a large soft red rug interwoven with intricate black patterns set on the floor of what looked like a large hallway. The tall ceiling stretched high above him, its elaborate carvings of plants and animals cascaded down narrow columns and across the walls to the white marble staircase that rose in front of him and split to left and right. Tall, multi-paned windows let in bright sunlight into the sumptuously furnished room. Highly polished mirrors reflected complex statues of human forms, frozen in their smooth perfection. He walked to the window he had been sitting at recently and looked out onto the street through the clean glass panes. Cylisi stood or moved down along a white road. Elegantly carved buildings lined either side, their silver roofs and towers shining and stretching high into the air and in the distance, a lush green valley stretched down towards a lazy azure ocean. As he looked, a flock of small yellow and red winged animals flew up squealing and whistling into the air from a bright green tree heavy with red fruits that reminded Chekov of huge rubies. They flew high into the blue sky towards the white sun of the Talliss system.

"Where are we?" asked Chekov in awe, unable to pull his eyes away from the scene in front of him_. Uhura would love this_, he thought. _And Sulu would be straight out to take botanical samples._

"We haven't moved. This is Cyliss." Balno and Truze moved up to stand behind him

"But that's…" He couldn't say 'impossible' because it was right before his eyes and he was always open-minded. He could appreciate a good view any day of the week, but he couldn't deny his own nature. He was sceptical and wanted to know how it all worked – down to the last sub-atomic particle. Uhura often chided him for over-analysing things. He tried to explain that understanding only added to his appreciation and was a pleasure in itself. Things that were, on the surface, beautiful would become wonderful. She would shake her head, calling him 'complicated'. "How do you power something like that?" It was big question to begin with and he wasn't sure he was going to understand the answer.

"Our version of Cyliss exists as a dimension on the surface of the space it inhabits. We occupy neighbouring spaces and we can move freely from one to another. Truze is more able to explain it to you. He helped to design it. He'd be happy to go through it with you. It is generated by the energy source which you no doubt detected at the pole. We also use it to create the storms that shield this planet."

"Why? Why would you need to shield yourself?"

"To hide from prying eyes…and the Klingons."

"The Klingons?" That was another surprise. He turned round to look at them. "With this much technology at your disposal, surely they can't trouble you?" he asked incredulously.

"No, but we don't want to harm them. They are an aggressive and inquisitive race. They moved into our system about 100 years ago and show no signs of leaving. We want to be left alone to continue our intellectual pursuits. If we had to engage the Klingons, the conflict would surely escalate. They are a complex society but they are still too brutal. If we engaged them, there would only be one winner. We might annihilate them without even realising. So we use the storms to deter them and even if they make it down, they won't find us here."

"But there are other species out there - so many places to see." Chekov turned back to look out at the street. A Cylisi female crossed in front of the window. She turned to look at him as she passed by, her dark eyes boring into him as Balno's had done, before she drifted silently away. Chekov never ceased to be amazed at the connections completely different species could make. "Why would you let the Klingons stop you from exploring the galaxy?"

"We haven't. We have just started to explore beyond our system by the power of our minds alone. We want to seek out others like us and expand our knowledge."

"So will you follow Senrug to Earth?" He had to ask the question although he felt he would know the answer.

Balno and Truze shimmered in what Chekov took to be a laugh.

"No, that has never been our intention. Now that Senrug has returned we must take her back. She must be re-educated".

Chekov thought of Tamoon. She didn't seem to have much of a future in this scenario. "Senrug transplanted her consciousness into the body of a Lalandian woman. She was called Tamoon. I don't know if they can be separated."

Truze nodded. "That will not be a problem."

"What will become of her? She allowed Sebrug to take her body, but she was misguided."

"We shall look after her until we are able to return her to her home planet. We shall arrange it."

Suddenly Balno and Truze looked down at their devices. Concern and anger showed on their faces. Chekov looked at them, worried. "What?" he asked. "What is it?"

Balno looked up. "Someone from you party has been killed."

"Killed?" Fear and desperation ran like an icy finger up his spine. "No. Who? Can you tell? Please tell me!"

Truze shook his head. "We can't. We need to move to your shuttle."

Before Chekov could ask what would happen next, Balno had stretched out her hand to him. The room faded again and they reappeared next to the shuttle. The grey sky glowered forbiddingly over the square. Chekov could see Senrug standing with a phaser trained on Sulu and Uhura. He was relieved they were still alive but that only meant that Momani had been killed. Senrug seemed to be saying something. He could see her lips moving but he couldn't hear what she was saying. Uhura replied, stepping towards her and holding out her hand. It was like a silent play but Chekov could anticipate the end. Uhura didn't seem to realise how irate Senrug was. Or maybe she did and she was being very brave and taking an enormous risk.

"That's Senrug .You've got to stop her!" said Chekov urgently, pointing at the small, scowling alien. He ran over to stand next to her. "She's going to fire on Uhura. She'll kill her." He tried to grab the phaser but his hand passed through as if it were an apparition.

Balno flew forward, moving so fast that all Chekov could see was a blur. At the same time he felt a shiver up his back as he was pulled from the Cylisi dimension and into the real world. The phaser screamed as it was discharged. The beam streaked into the air, straight upwards towards the grey clouds. Uhura saw Chekov appear in front of her with a mixture of amazement and shock. She had thought she was done for. She also saw Senrug, frozen to the spot, her face twisted with murderous anger, her arm held aloft clutching the phaser. Two floating golden aliens stood on either side of her.

"No!" she screamed in rage. "Let me go!" She was only able to move her eyes to look at her captors. "Who are you? What are you doing on my planet? I am -"

"Yes, we know who you are." Balno cut her off in the same way that Truze had cut off Chekov earlier. She floated in front of Senrug, her face sorrowful but sympathetic as she held her immobile with the touch of a single finger. "You will remain with us. We will help you."

"How dare you!" spat Senrug. "Let me go immediately. I have come to lead the Cylisi. You cannot stop me!"

"Come with us, Senrug," said Truze, ignoring her outbursts. "We will show you our planet and teach you our ways. Much has changed." He drifted over to her, his hand outstretched to grasp her arm.

"What are you talking about?" screeched Senrug. "I will continue the Games. The Cylisi will follow me. We will –."

Truze took her arm and they both vanished, leaving behind them the silence of the square and the gently blowing wind. Balno moved over to Uhura. Uhura looked back at her with the same wonder that Chekov he must have. "You must leave now," she said kindly. "But we do not want you to go away empty handed. To help you traverse the storms, take this device." She handed a flat black think square to Uhura. "Install this into your shuttle's computer. You will find it compatible. Use your communication systems to find the beacons. This device will signal them. They will show you the path through the storm. It will still be rough but you will avoid our lightning weapons. Also accept this." She gave her a small dull grey disc. "Install this into your ship's computer and it will shield you from the Klingons while you are in our system. You may also install it into your starship. It will protect them too. You may leave in safety."

"Thank you," said Uhura, looking at Chekov for confirmation. He gave a brief nod.

"Now leave quickly," said Balno. "It has been… interesting to meet ones such as you again. Maybe one day we shall meet again and share our thoughts." She shimmered and vanished. The three officers stood for a moment in silence. The wind began to pick up and the rain started to fall again. Sulu looked at the sky.

"What just happened?" he said. He turned to Chekov. "Who was that and where have you been?"

Chekov shrugged against a sudden cold blast of wind. "I'll tell you all about it somewhere warmer. Come on," he said. "There's nothing more to be done here. Let's go."


	16. Chapter 16

The shuttle craft lifted up from the stony surface of Cyliss and headed up for the grey swirling clouds above. Uhura watched its bleak horizon become more distant out of the front viewer before placing the beacon information disc into the communications computer.

Sulu turned to her. "Which way first?"

Uhura listened intently to her ear piece, adjusting her controls with small precise movements to pick up the faint high frequencies. "There's a lot of static." She was bent almost double over her console in concentration. "There… I think I've got it. I'll feed the data over to you."

Sulu watched the arriving figures scroll across his board: 296.017.005 He swung the shuttle round to the left and upwards, plunging them into the broiling clouds. The storm began to buffet them, the rain lashing at the windows and the lightning flashing somewhere not too far away. They continued on the same course for several minutes. The helm felt distressingly sluggish. Somewhere behind him an alarm went off. _And we've only just left_, he thought bleakly.

"That loss of power we were experiencing on the way in – it's getting worse." He cast a quick glance at one of the panels. "Chekov, get back to engineering and check it out."

Chekov nodded. He got up from his chair and went through to the small rear compartment. He was glad of something definite to do. He had had a premonition that he would be a spare part on the way back – a feeling he hated. He could never just be a passenger.

In the middle of the wall was a round hatchway set into the rounded bulkhead at the back of the shuttle like on a submarine. He spun the handle and pulled the thick door open with a heave. He placed his hands on the rim at the top and jumped in feet first. As he straightened himself up what greeted him was worse than he had expected. The instrumentation panels on the wall were flashing red in all the wrong places – power management, shields, engine reactor management – all at half power or offline. He sucked in his breath. The shot from the Klingon ship had done more damage than they had realised. He cursed himself for not checking sooner. He went over to the main console in the middle and started to address the damage. It looked manageable, as long as they could keep the reactors stable. The shuttle gave a sudden lurch downwards. Chekov felt his stomach rise sickeningly in inverse proportion. He held on to the edge of the console to keep himself from falling. This was going to be another bumpy ride. Next he moved over to the engine controls. Something wasn't right here either. They were losing power – that much he knew, but not at this rate surely? He traced his way along the system from the start, at the intake reaction, to the end - the exhaust – looking for a fault. He located a problem at the venting system. That wasn't right. There was hardly any plasma being vented. If it wasn't venting then where was it going and why weren't the back-up systems taking over? He glanced over at the manual relief valve to his left and his heart sank. Instead of sitting flush against the inner hull, the small wheeled valve handle was stuck out at a strange angle. As he hurried over to look closer he could see why – the hull itself had buckled and bulged inwards into a large, unsightly grey bleb. He flipped up the securing latch, pulling with both hands on the valve to try to rotate it. It was stuck fast. He struggled for several minutes to try to force it. There was no way it was going to move. He went back to the console, panic starting to rise. Perhaps he could force the system electronically to by-pass the valve. He tried to work quickly, seeking any way to manipulate the controls to respond to each other.

The shuttle gave another sharp roll, throwing him sideways. As he hit the wall he felt rather than heard a surge beginning in the panel beside him. It was an overload. He only had time to duck his head as the whole panel exploded outwards. Burning metal and components fired out in all directions like screaming shrapnel. He took the full blast down his left side. Something hot struck him in the face, knocking him sideways and onto the floor. A searing pain tore through his arm. He lay on the floor for a few seconds, trying to focus. The emergency lights had come on. Through his blurred vision the room took on the appearance of a hellish nightmare as smoke and flames billowed above him before being sucked out and extinguished by the control systems. He stared up at the ceiling. It was going round and round. He had to get up. He had to check what damage had been done. He tried to push himself off the floor but his left arm gave way under him. Instead he rolled stiffly onto his other side and staggered upwards, clutching his arm. He staggered sideways with a rush of vertigo. He leant against the console for support. He lifted his hand and looked down at his upper arm. His hand came away with thick sticky black blood. The wound was a mash of skin and material from his uniform. He couldn't really tell how bad it was. Maybe that was a good thing under the circumstances. He clamped his hand back in place and hobbled over to the engine control panel. Every system seemed to be in meltdown. He pressed the controls – nothing seemed to be working. He slammed his right hand down in frustration.

Above all the noise in the room his ear picked out another, more natural noise. There was something dripping. It was getting louder. He looked up the coolant transfer duct just as a large fracture burst out into a watery torrent. Icy dark water and coolant gushed out onto the floor of the room. How much worse could this get? He turned back to the controls in fear and frustration. Why was this happening? What was going on? He suddenly saw the problem – the replicator system was jammed on. It would keep making water and coolant until it was shut down. He knelt down in the rapidly forming puddle of water and pulled the panel off the console column with his good hand. The door fell onto the floor with a clang. He looked in and sat back in despair. The circuits had overloaded and melted into one another. Life support? He had to check life support. He stood up and went back to the console. He stood under the shower of water from the duct to access the controls. The water fell onto his head in a slimy, toxic waterfall. He kept having to stop and rub his eyes and pull his hair out of his eyes. It was like it was trying to stop him. Yes, that was ok for now. He worked onwards, going from system to system, checking and rechecking, trying to coax as much life as he could into the failing ship. He lost track of time. He had no idea if hours or minutes had passed. The water had built up to ankle depth. In the end he had exhausted his knowledge and imagination. There was nothing more to be done in here. He pushed himself back though the hatch and into the rear compartment. Again the ship lurched forwards, propelling him through the door and onto the Bridge.

"I can't shut the relief valve. The last shot to our port side has buckled the hull. It's wedged shut. I don't know what to do."

Sulu turned around in his seat to see Chekov sink down onto a bench by the wall and against a row of EV suits. He had been gone for over an hour. He was soaked from a mixture of water and what smelt to Sulu like coolant. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead and clung to his closed eyelids as he put his head back. He released his right hand which was clamped around the top of his left arm and wiped the water off his face with an exhausted movement. He smeared blood across his forehead which mingled with the water and trickled down his cheeks. There was a burn across his right cheek which glistened black and red in the emergency lighting. He put his hand back down to his arm. Blood oozed between his fingers. The note of despair in the young man's voice brought Sulu to his feet. Now was not the time for giving up. He wasn't going to let that feeling get the better of him. If he could still walk then there was still a chance. He strode the few paces across the small shuttle bridge and stopped in front of him, his hands on his hips.

"Get up," he said curtly. He knew that tone of voice in his friend. It was time to apply some psychology.

Chekov looked at him blankly. The contaminated water stung, making him squint as he raised his red and swollen eyes to Sulu. He ignored the command. "The controls are shot," he continued tiredly. "Half the components are melted. The only way is manual." He grimaced with a sudden stab of pain, hugging his arm tighter. Bloody water ran down his cheekbones from his hair and dripped off his chin.

Sulu was in no mood to hear why-nots. He grasped the material at the front of Chekov's shirt and hauled him up off the seat. The navigator cried out in surprise and pain. Sulu shut his ears. The young man was so weak he had to hold him up. They stood chest to chest, so close that Sulu could speak directly into Chekov's ear. The navigator listened, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Listen to me," he hissed. "If you don't get back in there and open that valve then we're all dead. You, me, Uhura: dead. I can't do it. I've got to fly this ship back through the storm. Uhura can't do it. She's listening for the beacons. You've plotted your course. You've done your work here. You have to open the valve."

"But the hull has buckled. It's wedged the handle shut," Chekov replied desperately.

Sulu heard an edge of hopelessness in his voice. "The un-wedge it!" he yelled, shaking the ensign in frustration. Chekov grasped Sulu's arm and dug his fingers in as if he could try to find some relief from the pain in his shoulder by transferring it to the helmsman. "The coolant transfer duct has leaked. The replicator system is stuck on. I can't stop it. It's making a flood of water. I'm up to my knees in it. Without the valve we don't have enough power for half the ship's systems. I can't shut them off." Pain and frustration started to choke his voice.

"Chekov, we don't have time. Stop the leak and get that damned valve shut."

"It's going to flood the compartment!

"Then stop talking and get back in there!"

"I can't!" he closed his eyes, looking away and falling backwards. Sulu thought he had fainted, but it was just the ship lurching in the storm.

"Get creative!"

"Sulu, you've got to get up here," called Uhura urgently from the front. "I can't stabilise the inertial dampeners. I'm not very good at this."

Sulu pulled Chekov forwards towards him and shook him again. "I'm giving you a direct order, Ensign! Get back into the engine room, release the valve and don't come back till you've done it." He gave Chekov a shove that sent him reeling back against the bulkhead. He fell back, bringing down his hand from the wounded arm to stop himself from impacting with the wall. Sulu saw the blood. He hadn't realised how deep the cut was. In any other situation he would have offered help, sympathy… but not here and not now. "If you don't do this, Ensign, you will have condemned the whole crew of the _Enterprise_ as well."

"You mean I'm expendable," cried Chekov angrily. "Why don't you just say it?"

"Yes, on this mission, this time - you are. Now get back down below."

Sulu immediately regretted the harshness of his words. That wasn't what he meant. It wasn't right that so much responsibility had to be put on him - at his age and in this situation. But he knew deep down that he was the only one who could do this. There was a reason that Spock had asked to mentor him. His knowledge of the ship's systems and how and why they worked was broad. All he needed to do now was to apply that knowledge.

_I can't protect you this time, kid brother_, thought Sulu. _I'm trusting you to do this for us. Dammit, I'm paying you a compliment, if only you'd see it._

Chekov hesitated for a second, breathing hard, before spinning on his heel with a look of hatred and headed for the door of the rear compartment. Sulu's shoulders slumped as the door opened as he approached and swallowed him up. He went back up to Uhura and sat down heavily in his chair, adjusting the dampeners back into alignment with an angry push on the controls. Uhura looked at him knowingly. She picked up her earpiece and brought the scanner back on line with a tap of her finger.

"Will he do it?" she asked tensely.

"Of course he will," was Sulu's taut reply.

Silence fell between them. They turned back to the storm.


	17. Chapter 17

As the door shut behind him Chekov suddenly felt resigned to his fate. He had no choice. If he came out of this alive it would just be luck. He ran over to the engineering hatch. The circular door was still open as he had left it. He climbed awkwardly over the high lip, trying to protect his injured arm, and found himself back once again in the small dark red engineering room. The water sloshed violently from side to side. It had been up to his ankles when he had left. Now it was lapping around his tired calves. He felt sea sick just watching it. The oily mix of water and coolant was now starting to splash at the low wall on which the door sat. He turned to the valve. He hoped that in his absence the wall had miraculously healed itself and assumed its former smooth profile. He wished that he had hallucinated the whole thing. Unfortunately the round wheel sat lodged firmly against the grey mound of the bulkhead. It wasn't going anywhere. The hopelessness of the situation seemed to empty his mind. He couldn't think. He felt as if all the neurons in his brain had stopped firing. He was expected to save the lives of 430 people in 5 minutes with what? A hammer? He didn't even have that.

A sound of water gushing in a new direction caught his attention. The water from the room was now starting to flood out of the hatch and into the rear compartment. He waded back over to the door and slammed the hatch closed. He gave the wheel handle one turn to seal it shut. He leant back against it for a moment, pushing his dripping hair out of his eyes with the palm of his hand. He suddenly felt very alone. As he surveyed the room he spotted a tool cabinet. He stumbled awkwardly back across to where it sat on the wall and opened the door. He had to start somewhere and this seemed like a reasonable place. He didn't know what he could expect to use. The Academy hadn't given classes on this. Even the mission to date hadn't put him in this situation. He surveyed the tools hanging in the cabinet. Gravity reformer – perfect, if he could go outside, which he couldn't. Calipers, screwdrivers, wrenches, probes, duct tape… all useless. Plasma cutter. Possibly. A small thought began to form. Then his mind began to race. He could set up a forcefield and cut out the bulge, or at least shave some of it off, if he was quick and careful enough. But the shields were off-line. He'd have to jump-start the system and squeeze out just enough residual power to form a reliable barrier at the site. Could it be done? Yes, it could. Did he have the time? He wasn't sure. He'd have to re-build the code from scratch. He hauled himself over to a back-up panel on the wall and initiated the series of commands he needed. He remembered something similar Mr Scott had shown him during his time in Engineering in his first year on board. He just had to adapt a few protocols and he was sure it would work. He tapped in the code as quickly as he could. The numbers danced in his mind's eye and down to his fingers. One by one the shield status lights went from red to orange as he drew power from other systems. Orange was good enough. Next, he needed field generators. He opened all the hatches he could in the walls, pulling out tools and equipment, throwing them clumsily onto the floor with his one good arm in his haste. They landed in the water with a heavy splash. Eventually he found some lodged at the back of a cupboard next to a box of interphasic coil spanners. He pulled out one and primed its anti-grav controls. He went back over to the damaged wall, holding the generator awkwardly at shoulder height. He could only do one at a time. He slammed it against the wall next to the bulge and pressed the button to fix it in place. The generator hummed into life, vibrating with the energy it was waiting to release. He waded back across the room and dug out the second generator. Once again he went through the start-up sequence and thumped it hard against the wall on the other side of the bulge. He took a few minutes to program it then went back over to the tool cabinet and pulled down the plasma cutter. It was heavy and unwieldy with a bulky power cell at one end. He tucked it under his right arm. He could only turn it on with his left hand. He gritted his teeth and pulled his wounded arm across him, thumbing on the button. Pain shot through him. He yelped out a curse. Somehow having no one to hear it made it more bearable. The cutter kicked and sprang into life. He balanced it precariously on his shoulder and pointed it towards the bulge. He had to keep it at the correct distance to melt the surface of the bulkhead but not to cut it. He was glad of all the micro welding he had done recently. The flow and colour of the metal was familiar and fresh in his mind. The plasma hissed its way through the bulkhead. The smell of burning metal mingled with the coolant and burnt circuitry in a heady mix. As long as he didn't over-do it, he'd be fine, he reminded himself. Just keep concentrating.

The water was now up to his waist. He tried to ignore its cold pull and the constant splashing up his back. The deeper it got, the more it unsteadied him. He'd have to work faster or it might pull him over completely. At last he could see a chink of light between the valve handle and the wall. He was almost there. Suddenly new alarms went off around him, the red lights dimmed and winked out. He was plunged into darkness. Above the waterfall of water from the duct he could hear the computer in the next compartment. _… off-line. Warning: hull breach imminent. Shields are off-line._ He didn't wait to hear the rest of the computer's report. He dropped the cutter and lashed out wildly at the wall at where he thought the second generator should be. This was his only chance. In his mind's eye he had positioned it. His hand hit home first time. It sprang into life, casting its welcoming blue light over his face. Almost immediately afterwards, the forcefield fizzed and formed its golden strengthening matrix over the thinned patch of hull. The computer outside fell silent. He reached up with his right arm and pulled at the valve wheel. It spun freely - well-oiled and smooth. He gave it a few more tugs to make sure it had travelled its full rotation and locked the release handle over the top. In response, the ship gave a strong pull forwards, sending the mercurial water in his compartment into a deep sinoidal wave. It lifted him off his feet and dragged him down. He came to the surface spluttering like a sailor at sea, but he didn't mind. The ship was at full power again. They were on their way to the _Enterprise._

The emergency lighting came back on with a flicker. He half swam over to the power management panel on the wall and checked it over. Most of its lights had come back on. Granted, they were flashing furiously, but at least they were on. He accessed the coolant replicator system and shut it down. Gradually the gushing from the duct receded – at least he wasn't going to drown just yet. It ended in a persistent drip. He moved onto the extractions systems and modified them to remove the water. Slowly but surely the water around him receded, sucked out through the vents and out into the recycling systems. When it was drained he sat down on the floor in exhaustion, still hugging his arm. Now that the danger had passed and the adrenaline was starting to seep away, all the fear and anger welled up inside him. He burst into tears. Suddenly the sound of banging on the hatch door caught his attention. He looked up, wiping his nose, suddenly ashamed of himself for his childish outburst. He rose to his feet, staggering like a drunkard and threw himself against the hatch. He pulled on the wheel and spun it open, falling backwards as Sulu and Uhura pushed their way through. In a wave of exultation and relief he felt the blood rush to his head and he fell into their arms.


End file.
